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"Was that the Momentum?” inquired Captain Frontispiece. . 

Page 189. 


CapTaii\Bluit1“ 

ATalc oj" Old Turley^ 

CHARLES HEBER CLARK 

(MAX ADELER) 

Author (y"Out oj the Hurjj^-Buriyetc, 



THILADELTHIA 
H ENRY T. COATES «§) CO. 
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Copyright, 1901, by Charles Heber Clark 



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TO MY FRIEND 


MR. THOMAS DOLAN 

OF PHILADELPHIA 


THIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED 






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PREFACE 


M ore than a quarter of a century ago, the writer 
of this tale produced three or four books con- 
taining material designed to supply amusement. 
Concluding then that enlargement of the world’s 
stock of foolishness was not one of the needs of the race, 
nor likely to confer dignity upon him who engaged in it, 
he turned his attention to serious matters, and endeavored 
to persuade himself and his fellow-men that political 
economics, among secular things, embodies highest wis- 
dom and may bring honor to him who can deal with it 
successfully. 

Experience and observation now incline the author to 
believe that very much of the material commonly received 
as economic wisdom and put into practice in public 
affairs is closely related to foolishness ; while not a little of 
that which is looked upon as foolishness has indeed some 
claim to be regarded as wisdom. 

He has had, therefore, an impulse to resume the work 
of producing literature for entertainment, in the belief that 
the race may find larger advantage by reading avowed 
fiction, in which, as in real life, fun is mingled with 
seriousness, than by accepting as its surface-value false- 
hood pretending to be fact and nonsense masquerading 
as philosophy. 

This impulse was quickened by an experience he had 
while crossing the Atlantic Ocean upon a steamer in the 
company of a learned Rabbi. The Rabbi, after consider- 
ing the case, related to the writer a story told in the Tal- 
mimd Taanit 22a. It was to this end: 


(V) 


VI 


Preface 


Rabbi Baroka, a saintly ascetic, often received visits 
from Elijah, who would communicate to him the secrets 
of Heaven. Rabbi Baroka learned from Elijah that every 
one in Heaven has a companion who is exactly comple- 
mentary to the person with whom he is placed. Rabbi 
Baroka entreated Elijah to show to him the man who 
should be his companion. Thereupon Elijah led him to 
the market-place, where a jester stood, surrounded by a 
multitude of people to whom he was supplying amuse- 
ment. ‘That is your companion,” said Elijah, pointing 
to the jester. “What have I done,” demanded Rabbi 
Baroka, “that I should be condemned to the company of 
such a man in Heaven?” “Scorn him not,” responded 
Elijah. “By cheering the distressed and sorrowful, and 
diminishing the sadness of human life, that man is doing 
a better and nobler work than if he should withdraw from 
society and lead a life of asceticism and solemnity. Learn 
that there is joyousness in Heaven.” 

And so here, in this book, while there is much that 
shows the serious side of the human existence that is 
deeply tinged with tragedy, there is also comedy, with- 
out which no true story of the life of man can be told. 
Rabbi Baroka is but half a man; his other half is the 
Jester. 


Max Adeler. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER page 

} I. Walter Drury has a Vision of an Angel i 

II. Saul Tarsel 12 

III. In A Sailor’s Snug Harbor 24 

IV. Involving the Church Militant 37 

V. The Hero bears the Heroine Homeward 57 

VI. Face to Face 73 

VII. The Hero becomes a Professional Man 94 

VHI. Two Men of Turley 113 

IX, Temptation 136 

X. The Curse OF Canaan '. 152 

XI. The Arm of the Law is Extended 167 

XH. The March of Invention. 179 

XIII. Educational Influences IN Turley 196 

XIV. Into THE New World WHICH IS the Old 214 

XV. The Way of the Transgressor 232 

XVI. The Slave-Catchers 247 

XVII. Through the Way of the Wilderness 264 

XVIII. Politics in Turley 286 

XIX. Efforts to Save the Country 307 

XX. Divination and Politics 327 

XXI . Prince Bunder Poot Singh Returns to Turley 345 

XXH. The Cobra Strikes 359 

XXIH. Suffering AND -Bliss 372 

XXIV. Captain Bluitt Behaves in a Surprising Man- 

ner 388 

XXV. Flight 399 

XXVI. Love, the Consoler 414 

XXVII. Phoebe Tarsel Goes Home 421 

XXVHI. Due North 441 

XXIX. Three Twos ARE Three 451 

(vii) 








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ILLUSTRATIONS 

DRAWN BY JOHN HENDERSON BETTS 


“Was that the Momentum ?*’ inquired Captain Bluitt 

Frontispiece 

PAGE 

“Is Dat ’ligion?’* asked Becky i 6 o 

“ Stop ! ” said the Doctor, with a Stern Voice 254 

They Sat upon the Sofa, Hand-in-hand. 417 


(ix) 





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CAPTAIN BLUITT 


CHAPTER I 

Walter Drury has a Vision of an Angel 

U PON a bright Sunday morning in the summer- 
time Walter Drury came out from the house of 
Captain Elijah Bluitt, his uncle, and walked to 
the garden-gate. He had no thought whether 
he should turn to the right or to the left when he emerged 
upon the street. 

If he had considered the matter at all, it would have 
seemed to him without importance that he should go in 
one direction or the other. 

It was an idle day and he was in a vagrant mood, 
strong with the joyousness of the vigorous life of youth 
and careless- but to have the stimulation of gentle exer- 
cise in the sweet air and the sunshine. 

The broad river lay directly before him ruffled by the 
breeze from the west, and beneath the river-bank across 
the street his uncle’s boat swung to the pier. And if the 
river had no charm for him at this hour, the Sand-Beach 
that stretched southward from the border of the town 
along the river led to the shade and the grass and the 
seclusion of Graver’s Point, a rocky promontory that 

0 ) 


I 


2 


Captain Bluitt 

thrust itself across the Beach close out to the verge of the 
stream. There were, besides, a pleasant walk up the 
river-shore, and another a mile or more out through a 
shady, hedge-lined lane to the grove near to the house of 
Dr. Quelch, at Cedar Hill. 

The smallest impulse supplied to his mind from the 
suggestion of another person would have sent him in 
any one of these various ways and upon the next day he 
would have given no thought to the subject. But a very 
small and apparently insignificant fact turned him away 
from the river and the Beach and the quiet lane. 

As he passed the garden-gate he thrust it from him to 
close it, and one of the hinges became loose. Looking at ' 
it, he returned to the garden, walked around the house to 
the stable, and calling Rufus Potter, Captain Bluitt’s hired 
man, he asked him to set the hinge in place. Then, 
merely to avoid going back again over the ground he had 
just now traversed, he opened the gate at the rear of the 
garden and walked along the narrow thoroughfare to 
the corner of the street which ran from the river-bank up 
into the town. 

Turning toward the village, he strolled along without 
any notion of his destination— or indeed of his Destiny! 

Faithful observance of Sunday as a day of rest from 
toil was the practice in Turley. The shops were closed; 
no vehicles rolled along the streets, excepting now and 
then a physician passed by in his buggy or a carriage bore 
its burden of worshippers to church or contained men 
who sought pleasure away from the town. 

Drury observed the groups of people dressed in their 
best clothing walking slowly to the houses of worship; 
he glanced at the three or four idlers who sat upon the 
front porch of the hotel smoking and talking and looking 
as if they wished it was Monday; he noted that though 
the grass grew between the cobblestones in the street- 
pavement, the stones were clean; he stopped for a 
moment to watch two young dogs playing upon the grass 


Walter Drury has a Vision j 

of the square about the court-house; when he passed the 
drug-store he had an impulse, at once resisted, to enter 
and buy some soda-water merely that he might appear to 
be doing something. He heard, without consciously 
hearing, the bells of the three large churches filling the 
air with clangor; and then, as he reached the head of the 
street, he inclined to turn about and go again to the river 
to discover if he might not find there something interest- 
ing for a spirit having just then no interest in anything, 
but given over to whim. 

He stopped ; and at that instant he really heard with his 
mind the bell in the steeple of the Presbyterian Church by 
which he was standing without realizing until then that 
he was near a church. Gazing through the open door 
into the vestibule in the tower at the base of the steeple, 
he could see a white-haired negro with broad shoulders 
and strong arms pulling the rope that moved the bell 
away up in the belfry, and as he pulled bowing head and 
shoulders and body. 

Drury watched him for a few moments and was 
amused to notice in what manner the negro greeted the 
older people who entered the door, combining the bow of 
the bell-puller with the bow of courtesy, and how the 
smile changed suddenly to a frown as two or three boys 
ran through the east door, across the vestibule and out 
through the north door, tagging the sexton on the way. 

The fancy took possession of Drury to enter the church 
and to look on. He resolved to remain but for a few 
moments and then to resume his saunter along the street. 
So he went on to the door that opened into the body of 
the church at the rear, near the pulpit, and going in he 
took a seat in a position from which he could slip away 
without attracting a great deal of attention. 

The organist was engaged in playing the first volun- 
tary as Drury took a place in the pew. The organ and the 
choir were directly across the room from him, by the side 
of the pulpit platform. Drury merely glanced at them. 


4 


Captain Bluitt 

Then he looked over the congregation and thought the 
people quite respectable in appearance and nice in their 
dress. 

The preacher, Reverend Dr. Frobisher, began by giv- 
ing out notices. Drury did not heed them. He simply 
thought the proceeding tiresome and concluded from the 
sound of the doctor’s voice that he must be a dull 
preacher, although he was a man of fine appearance. 

Had Drury listened he would have noted that a mis- 
sionary meeting would be held in the church on that 
very evening and that an address would be made by a 
Hindu prince. Bunder Foot Singh, a convert to Chris- 
tianity; and had the angel of Destiny been near to Drury 
to whisper in his ear, the young man might have learned 
that the distinguished foreigner would have no little influ- 
ence upon his happiness in the time to come! 

When the notices were ended there was a brief prayer 
and the choir sang a hymn. Walter took a hymn-book in 
his hand, but instead of opening it he began to count the 
ribs in the ceiling of the church; and then he reflected 
that yellow-pine darkened by age is really a very hand- 
some wood. 

The hymn ended and the members of the choir, at 
whom he had not looked, sat down. At that moment one 
of the women-singers attracted his attention. She had on 
a grey bonnet and she turned her head towards the organ 
so that the bright flowers upon her bonnet were made 
conspicuous. Walter looked at the flowers. The head 
turned again with the face toward the preacher and Drury 
saw a countenance which sent thrills up and down his 
body. It looked to him like a very sweet face, but he was 
too far away to see it quite distinctly. He wished now 
that he had taken another seat closer to the singers. 

But it was not the mere physical beauty of the face 
that affected him so strongly. He could not have ex- 
plained the cause of his feelings, but as he looked and 
looked and looked it seemed to him that he saw a crea- 


Walter Drury has a Vision j 

tnre who differed in some strange, wonderful way from 
any other human being he had ever seen. It actually 
appeared to him that she had a kind of relationship to 
him, or something at least in common with him. 

He put his hand upon his cravat; he pulled up his 
collar; he felt his heart beat faster and his breathing be- 
became quicker. He wished he had worn a better suit of 
clothes. 

Then he turned his head away and his mind revolted 
at the absurdity of his feelings; but he had no longer 
any notion of leaving the church. 

When the minister had read a chapter from the Scrip- 
tures he announced another hymn and then the choir 
arose again to sing. Walter fastened his eyes upon the 
girl whom he noticed and observed and saw only her. 

She sang the contralto part, her voice having lower 
range than the soprano. Drury possessed some small 
knowledge of music and he clearly discerned her voice 
among the other voices. He thought it extremely pretty. 
During the singing of the second verse he heard no one 
but her. The harmony enveloped her tones and flowed 
along with them; but for him the melody did not exist. 
He listened to that lower part, so rich and sweet, for the 
adornment of which the melody was made. 

To many men the contralto voice, or the half-contralto 
voice, has peculiar attractiveness in singing. Is it because 
the deeper tone brings with it suggestion of passion and 
of fire? Or, is it because the contralto, heard with the 
other voices, gives to the harmony its richest coloring? 
Of all the tones below the melody that is the one that 
cannot be withheld unless the picture is to be cold and 
grey and passionless. 

There is in it too, a gentle suggestion of sadness. 
Hearken to it alone as the four parts go on together, and 
the contralto will seem always to have a strange tinge of 
melancholy, different from and yet perhaps not unrelated 
to the mysterious mournfulness of the minor chord. 


6 


Captain Bluitt 

Walter Drury heard it all through the hymn,- and to 
him it seemed more beautiful than any human utterance 
he had ever listened to; and as if there were in it some- 
thing of pang and sorrow which were strangely foreign to 
the lovely girl with the bright, happy face at whom he 
looked. 

He could see the face more plainly now that the mem- 
bers of the choir stood up and came forward a little way. 
The girl was indeed beautiful. He was oddly attracted 
by the movements of her mouth. Five or six other 
women were singing, but he thought, and the fact seemed 
strange to him, that their mouths while singing were 
-ugly, while this one was indescribably charming. 

When the hymn concluded the singers retreated and sat 
down. Walter leaned back in his pew with a sigh and 
wished there had been ten or fifteen more verses. 

When prayer had been made, the deacons began to 
take up the collection while the organist played upon his 
instrument. This operation completed, Drury was filled 
with delight to hear the player begin the prelude to a 
sacred song and to see the girl take a piece of music in 
her hand and rise. 

She would sing alone. 

If Walter had admired her singing while she had the 
accompaniment of the voices, he listened with feelings 
of rapture to her as she interpreted, with the organ-tones 
below her, a plaintive, flowing melody joined with devo- 
tional words. 

He looked at her and heard her like a man to whom 
the vision has come for the first time of that which is 
beautiful and holy, and existence seemed transformed 
for him. No longer he saw the walls of a common church 
surmounted by a mere wooden roof which echoed the 
voice of a dull speaker; the little building had become a 
temple in which stood a priestess so sweet and pure and 
divinely fair that he could have worshiped her. 

It vexed him in a way to perceive that the other people 


7 


Walter Drury has a Vision 

present appeared to regard that lovely music and the 
lovelier singer, if not quite with indifference, at most with 
little interest. The minister, sitting in his chair, turned 
over the pages of his sermon. Two of the deacons whis- 
pered across the back of the pew. The chief soprano 
singer in the choir covered her mouth with her hand to 
conceal a yawn, and the negro sexton tip-toed along the 
side-aisle to summon a physician who sat among the 
congregation. 

‘‘What are these people made of that such music does 
not impress them?” asked Walter of himself. Willingly 
would he have had it prolonged all through the remaining 
time of the services; but the last note sounded, and Dr. 
Frobisher arose and began his sermon. 

The discourse might have considered Buddhism or 
Confucianism or any other ism that morning and Drury 
would not have perceived that the preacher had departed 
from ordinary practice. His senses were concentrated in 
his optic nerve, and he was hardly conscious for a time 
of anything but the presence of the girl. 

Then the organist slipped from the stool, and turning 
placed a chair beside her and sat in it. He spoke to her 
and smiled. Drury was glad to perceive that she did 
not look at him or smile again. She shook her head 
gently and fixed her eyes upon the preacher. 

Walter had a pang of jealousy as he looked at the 
young player. The man seemed familiar and imperti- 
nent. Why should he choose to sit just there? Then a 
wave of anguish swept across his mind as he thought this 
might be her husband. But surely she was too young, 
and he was too much a youth for marriage to be likely. 
No, upon reflection he concluded that there was no 
relation between them other than that of player and 
singer. But why, then, should he come so close to her 
and manifest indifference to the other women singers? 
Walter was sure from his manner that the organist ad- 
mired her, and for that he could not be blamed; it was 
inevitable. 


8 Captain Bluitt 

There was another pang as the thought came next 
of the great advantage the organist had in this matter 
over Walter Drury. The player knew her well, he met 
her frequently in the choir rehearsals, he could visit her, 
no doubt, in her home, he could choose music for her, 
and advise with her, and find a hundred pretexts for 
speaking with her, while he, Walter Drury, did not know 
her, might never know her, did not even know her name. 

The blood mounted to his face as he said to himself: 
^‘But I will know her name and know her and I will 
have her, too, if that be possible.’’ 

He was in love with her, and with the kind of love 
that can hardly have patience to consider possibilities. 

Then a revulsion came. 

How absurd it was to have such feelings for a girl to 
whom he had never spoken a word; who might have no 
good mental qualities, no education, no social position, 
no qualities of any kind that would attract after close 
acquaintance. He remembered more than once having 
seen women who at a little distance appeared lovely, but 
from whom all charm vanished when they were met face 
to face. No doubt this girl was, after all, a very ordinary 
sort of person. This was why the people in the pews 
seemed unmoved when she sang. Like all girls she must 
appear commonplace enough to a great many persons 
among whom she moved in the hum-drum routine of life. 
At home this girl possibly was cross and tiresome and 
foolish, and perhaps had other disagreeable qualities as 
had all the girls he had ever known. 

Pshaw! he, Walter Drury, would walk out of the 
church in a few minutes just the same free man he was 
Avhen he entered it, and ashamed that he should have 
permitted himself to be so much agitated by the singing 
of a pretty lass in a country choir! It might be well, in 
fact, to get up and go out now before the preacher ended 
the prosing and permitted the sleepers in the congrega- 
tion to come back to consciousness. 


Walter Drury has a Vision 9 

Another look at her before he turned toward the 
door! 

Ah! she was indeed comely to look upon. How modest 
and sensible her costume! That of itself indicated refine- 
ment of no small measure. How prettily she carried her 
head! The poise of it suggested firmness and confidence 
without any touch of pride. Modesty was apparent in 
her whole bearing, and sweet gentleness. She had rever- 
ence too. There was whispering and smiling among the 
other singers, but her lovely face had gravity, and Walter 
thought she did not once fail to look straight at the 
minister. She was a good woman, he was sure ; she was 
even trying to obtain some good from that dull sermon. 
Her hair seemed to be brown and her eyes were not dark. 
The distance was too great to permit the facts to be 
clearly determined. Her nose, he thought was small and 
straight, and her mouth! He had thought it charming 
while she sang; it seemed even more sweet and beautiful 
in repose. 

As he gazed at her, again that strange feeling came 
to him that she belonged to him. He tried to discover 
the exact nature of an impression that his judgment told 
him could have no justification in reason; but the effort 
baffled him, while the impression became stronger. 

The girl, for the first time since the sermon began, 
turned her head and for an instant swept the circumfer- 
ence of the church with her eyes. As her vision passed 
over him he observed that she had seen him; she looked 
again at the preacher, but at once returned her eyes to 
Walter and looked steadily upon him. 

She saw that he perceived how he had attracted her 
attention, and again she gazed at the preacher, this time 
giving to her body a little motion toward the pulpit as 
if she would emphasize the fact that she no longer would 
look at Walter. 

He felt as if he were already acquainted with her. 

A thrill of joy passed through him. They had met 


lO Captain Bluitt 

It was the first time that his soul and hers had come into 
contact — yes, even if for the smallest fraction of a second. 

Walter thought he saw her look furtively at him again, 
even while her face was turned from him, but he was 
not sure. Her attitude was one of close attention to 
the minister. 

The sermon ended, and there was a concluding hymn. 
The young singer rose and came forward with her com- 
panions, but apparently she did not look toward Walter. 
Then the ending prayer was made and he saw her glance 
again about the church as she prepared to go. She did 
now look once more at him, but with a plain determina- 
tion not to indicate that she had any feeling of curiosity 
or interest. In an instant she turned about and walked 
with one of her companions to the door of the gallery. 

Walter resolved to go around to the door of the church 
through which she would be likely to pass and to en- 
deavor to see her at a shorter distance. 

Taking his hat, he went out from the pew, through 
the aisle, through the door to the street and around the 
church with haste that was born of eagerness. 

He stood upon the sidewalk near to a tree where two 
or three men and boys loitered and saw a dozen or two 
persons emerge from the door, but the young girl was 
not among them. Waiting for a few moments, and dis- 
covering that nobody else was likely to come out that 
way, he walked quickly toward the front of the church 
and saw the woman for whom he was looking walking 
down the street, two hundred yards from him. She had 
gone from the choir to the main-aisle and had come 
through the great door at the front. 

A young man walked with her and talked with her. 
Walter felt angry as he perceived it was the organist. 

He noticed that her figure was fine with the slender- 
ness of young womanhood; that she carried herself grace- 
fully and like a person in vigorous health. In her manner 
of walking there was a slight swaying motion which to 


II 


Walter Drury has a Vision 

him seemed lovely. He would not have admired it if 
any other woman had had it. Her attire appeared even 
more tasteful and beautiful than he had thought it to be. 

The young man stood by the porch and watched the 
retreating figures until he was left alone, the congrega- 
tion having completely dispersed. He was in perplexity. 
What should he do next? 


CHAPTER n 

Saul Tarsel 

T he next thing to be done by a young man to whom 
such an angelic vision had appeared would be, of 
course, to ascertain as speedily as might be the 
name and the domicile of the apparition. This 
information Walter Drury could obtain at once by re- 
turning to his uncle’s house, for Captain Bluitt and his 
sister were members of Dr. Frobisher’s congregation, 
and they knew all the nice people in Turley and all about 
them. But Walter shrank from the thought of speaking 
to his aunt about the matter. Somehow his feelings were 
too sacred to be in any measure exposed even to the sus- 
picion of anybody who knew him. 

As he walked a few steps to and fro upon the sidewalk 
in his hesitation, he glanced through the open door of the 
church-porch and saw the white-haired negro sexton 
coming to close the door. Drury at once determined to 
obtain from him, if possible, the information he wanted. 
He went into the vestibule and spoke to the negro: 
^‘Good mawnin’, suh!” was the response of the sexton 
to Walter’s greeting. 

^^Are you in a hurry to close the church?” asked Drury, 
slipping a silver coin into the hand of the negro. 

“No, suh! not in so werry much o’ a hurry! No, suh! 
time’s not a pushin’ me; on’y I mus’ shet de cbu’ch befo’ 
dinnah.” 

‘T am a stranger here,” said Walter, entering the 
church and taking a seat in one of the pews, where the 
sexton followed him and stood listening to him, “and I 
am much interested in the church.” 

( 12 ) 


Saul Tarsel ij 

''Yes, suh! hit’s a mighty fine chu’ch, dat’s a fac’. 
Mighty fine.” 

"You have charge of it? You’re the sexton?” 

"Yes, suh!” 

"What’s your name?” 

"Saul, suh! Saul Tarsel.” 

"It sounds like Saul of Tarsus,” said Walter. "You’re 
not related to him?” he asked, with a glimmer of face- 
tiousness. 

"No, suh! No, dough it soun’s like dat. Hit’s dish yer 
way. My ole Marster, en de Souf, he fon’ o’ de name o’ 
Saul, an’ he ’sisted on my mammy callin’ me Saul. But 
you know dere’s free Sauls in de Bible; dere’s Saul de fus 
king befo’ whom David played on de jewsharp; an’ den 
dere’s Saulomon de wises’ man, and den Saul o’ Tarsus. 
Well, den, to ’stinguish me from de odder Sauls dey 
gwine to call me Saul o’ Tarsus. Den dese yer ignorant 
niggers who doan ’tend no chu’ch an’ goes soun’ asleep 
when dey does ’tend, an’ can’t read de good Book nohow, 
dey got to callin’ me Tarsel ; an’ dat’s good ’nough name 
fo’ me who nebber had no las’ name when I was a boy.” 

"You were a slave once, then?” 

"Yes, suh! Bo’n dat way; down in Wirginny. But my 
ol’ Marster set me free by his will an’ when he die I ain’ 
no man’s slave no longer. I jes walk off de plantation a 
free man. But my wife Phoebe she belong to Gunnel 
Johnson an’ so does our little gal, Liddy, an’ when de 
Gunnel die dem heirs jes sol’ de mammy an’ de chile to 
Jedge Bickerstaff down in Gawgia; an’ dere dey is now.” 

Walter was amused by the old man’s talk. As the 
sexton stood in the aisle, leaning on the pronged pole with 
which he closed the windows and turned off and on the 
gas, he looked, with his white bushy crown of wool, like 
a brown Neptune holding his trident. 

"You have a good place here as sexton?” asked Drury. 

"Well, I’se makin’ no complaint, but de fac’ is dere’s a 
heap o’ trouble fo’ a brack man tryin’ to run a congrega- 


14 


Captain Bluitt 

tion like dis, ’specially in de winter-time. Why de fus’ 
thing you know, ob a Sunny mawnin’,Miss Blackstone' 
she come to me an’ say ‘Saul, you wan’ to freeze me to 
def? Dis yer chu’ch jes like a ba’n;’ an’ den she ’sist dat 
I go down an’ put de draf on de furnace. 

“I ain’ mo’n done it when Miss F’obisher come flyin’ at 
me all wukked up an’ eggsited an’ say ‘Saul, you in- 
ten’in’ to roas’ us in dish yer bake-oven? Why doan you 
’bserve de femometer an’ keep de temtershure down so’s 
we kin breave widout stiflin’.’ ” 

“Mrs. Frobisher is the minister’s wife?” 

“Yes, suh! de wife o’ de pasture o’ de chu’ch, an’ she 
jes as fiery as a snappin’ cracker. Well, suh, de werry 
nex’ momen’ Miss Wiggin come outen de westendbule 
wid her shawl tight aroun’ her, and say ‘Saul, ef you 
opens up dem win’ows an’ put me in de draf, I get de 
plumbago sure. Close dat win’ow or Fse ’bleeged to go 
right home.’ De wuds hardly outen her mouf befo’ up 
comes Miss Brown an’ splain to me dat de sash mus’ be 
liffed, kase ef you doan let in de oxengin hit’s no use a 
tryin’ to keep de congregation from sleepin’ ef dey was an 
angel preachin’. 

“Now, Marster, what’s a brack man gwine to do wid 
dem pussons? I dunno. Can’t please ’em all, dat’s 
werry sartin. Can’t have de chu’ch bofe hot an’ col’ an’ 
de win’ows bofe open an’ shet at one an’ de same time.” 

“It’s a difficult problem,” said Walter. 

“Dat’s what I say; and dere’s Mars. Bulger ’cross de 
street. He’s a Mefodis; an’ he hail me yesserday an’ say, 
‘Tarsel, wheffo’ you keep a janglin’ dat blame bell so long? 
Short rings is good as long rings; cut ’em short.’ Dat’s 
what Mars. Bulger say; but it ain’ fo’ days sence Docker 
F’obisher instruc’ me dat de bell mus’ be rung full ten 
minutes ebery time. 

“An’ den dem Sunny School boys! Declar’ to gracious 
ef dey doan beat de ten commaments wid dere foolish- 
ness! ’Pears to me dat Sunny School boys is wuss, some- 


Saul Tarsel 

i how, dan odder kin’s ’o boys. I dunno; but I nebber see 
, no boy dat d behave right in cbu’ch. Dere’s dem boys o’ 
! Miss Pottahs. 

I “Mss Pottah she bring de hull o’ her eight chilluns to 

' , ebery Sunny an’ de way dey bodder de folks in de 

jinin pews is mos su’prisin’. De older boys dey sits 
dere an’ jes wiggle an’ wiggle endurin’ de sermon ’twel I 
declar I doan see how Miss Pottah eber keeps dem in 
1 panties. An’ sometimes dey git to fightin’ one anudder 
m de mos’ scand’lus manner ’twel Doctah F’obisher has 
to stop de discause an’ look at ’em savage ober his specs. 

^ Dey nearly worry de life outen Majah Gridley in de nex’ 
pew in front. Majah Gridley he a kin’hearted man who 
, doan wan’ to make no row wid a pussoninchu’ch; but las’ 
p Sunny Miss Pottah she bring de baby to chu’ch and dat 
b chile so res’less she neber still half a minit. Fus yer an’ 
?: den dere, a movin’ an’ a talkin’ an’ a goin’ on all de time! 

S pat baby of Miss Pottah’s put me in min’ o’ one o’ dem 
petual motion machines Jedge McGann say he gwine to 
t; make. An’ affer chu’ch was out Majah Gridley he come 
I to me an’ he say Tarsel, sumpin sholy got to be done wid 
ij dem Pottah chilluns, mos’ sholy sumpin’! I doan min’, 
sez he, ‘dere wrigglin’ an’ dere res’lessness an’ I kin stan’ 

; it, hard as it is, when dem boys rubs dere noses wid de 
I sleeves o’ dare jackets, but Tarsel,’ sez he, ‘when dat baby 
: reach ober from de mudder’s lap an’ pat de bai’ place on 
my head twice endurin’ de sermon de en’ is reached! 
Tarsel’, sez he, ‘I draws de line at dat!’ Yes, suh, dem’s 
: de wurry wuds Majah Gridley say to me. ‘I draws de 
dine at de Pottah baby pattin’ my ’bal head endurin’ de 
i sermon. Soonah dan stan’ dat any longer I jines de ’Pis- 
j copals,’ sez he.” 

! “I must go,” said Walter, laughing and rising from his 
I seat, as if he cared to hear no more. But as he stood by 
!the pew door he added: 

I “Yes, you have a very nice church, here, very nice! 
Good music, too; good organ and good choir. By the 
way, who is the organist, Tarsel?” 


1 6 Captain Bluitt 

'‘Dat’s Dokker F’obisher's son, suh, Mars. Lucky 
Frobisher, an’ a mighty fine young gemman he is, suh, 
too.” 

‘‘I noticed a young lady in the choir, a young lady with 
a grey bonnet, who sang second. Who was she?” 

“You doan’ mean de leddy wid de red ribbon on her 
dress, dat sat nex’ to de las’ on de front row, an’ sang all 
by herself?” 

“Yes, that’s the one. I thought she was rather a fair 
singer.” 

“Dat ain’ sayin’ mo’ ’n half ’nough, Marster! Singin’? 
Why Marster, dat young leddy beats de werry birds a 
singin’, an’ dey ain’ nobody beats her! Singin’! well I 
reckon she kin sing! An’ dat ain’ de bes’ o’ it needer. 
She’s jes one o’ dem angels, she is; kin’ an’ sweet an’ 
good! I really ’bleeged to declar’ she’s almos’ too good 
fo’ dis yer ol’ yearth.” 

“Let me see, what did you say her name was?” 

“Name? She name Missy Dorry Hamilton. Her fader 
he is Mars. John Hamilton, de cashyear down yer at de 
bank. Mons’ous nice gemman. He’s got eight hundred 
dollars o’ mine dat Fse a savin’ to buy my wife an’ 
daughter.” 

Walter had gained all the information he wanted. He 
preferred to change the subject of conversation. 

“So you are saving money for the purchase of your 
-wife and child, are you?” 

“Yes, suh!” 

“You’ve got eight hundred dollars. How much more 
do you want?” 

“De Jedge say he mus’ hab fifteen hun’red fo’ de 
mammy an’ de gal. De mammy she a gittin’ ol’ an’ ain’ 
wuff much to him, but she’s wuff a heap to me, suh!” 

“So you have seven hundred dollars yet to get?” 

“Yes, suh! It tek me eight years to git togedder dat 
eight hun’red dat Mars. Hamilton hoi’ fo’ me, an’ it seem 
lek a long time to wait fo’ de res’ — a long time, Marster, 


Saul Tarsel 


17 

werry, werry long! De pasture, he preach de odder day 
’bout Rachel weepin’ fo’ her chilluns. I doan know much 
’bout dat Rachel; ef she los’ dem chilluns she ’bleeged to 
weep I s’pose, but Marster, I’se a weepin’ an’ a weepin’, 
offen an’ offen, fo’ bofe de wife an’ de chile — my wife an’ 
my chile.” 

“It does seem hard, surely,” said Drury. 

“Yes, suh, hard! dat’s de wud. An’ sometimes I wun- 
ner, when de pasture’s a prayin’ all ’round de yearth fo’ 
dem heathens, an’ fo’ dis an’ fo’ dat, he doan frow in jes a 
little prayin’ fo’ de ol’ man right yer, who sets home wid 
de heart a bleedin’ an’ de tears a flowin’ fo’ his own flesh 
an blood. Dat’s what I wunner.” 

“I ain’ got no grudge agin de po’ heathens. Dey has 
troubles o’ dere own an’ miseries ’nough to bodder dem, 
an’ when dey tek up de c’lections fur ’em I’se willin’ to 
frow in my penny wid de res’; but hit ’pears to me dat 
when de chu’ch done a c’lectin’ fur de heathen an’ got 
shet o’ dem, ’twouldn’t be ongracious to han’ aroun’ de 
plate to help dish yer Chris’n brack man to get his arms 
aroun’ his wife an’ liddle gal.” 

Walter handed him another silver piece and said: 

“I think so too, Saul. And now I must say good morn- 
ing,” and Walter went into the street. 

As he walked down the street towards his uncle’s 
house, the young man found that a marvelous change had 
come into his life. When he left the house he had been 
self-absorbed and self-contented. He had had what he 
would have considered, if he had thought of it at all, the 
happiness of indifference to the lives of other people than 
those with whom he had ties of blood and with whom 
also his relations were firmly established and clearly 
understood upon both sides. The current of his life and 
of his thoughts and purposes ran in the familiar and nat- 
ural channels of selfishness. How he should make his 
way in this tough old world, how he should cultivate his 
understanding, how he should obtain satisfaction in the 

2 


i8 Captain Bluitt 

pursuit of pleasure, how he should climb higher and 
higher, and how he should become rich — these were the 
matters that seemed to him important, and it was worth 
while that he should spend upon the effort to obtain 
them all the physical and intellectual force that he pos- 
sessed. 

Marriage he had thought of as one of the experiences 
likely to come to him in the future — after a while. When 
he had won all the other victories and placed his feet 
firmly upon the stones of fame and fortune, then he 
should have time enough to give attention to matters of a 
purely sentimental nature, — then, he had sometimes 
thought, he would begin to look about him for a wife, 
whom he would choose and pick from among the many 
nice girls he knew and should know, with the same unim- 
passioned deliberateness of action as if he were to choose 
a partner in business. 

Not that he consciously ignored the differences that 
might belong to the choice of a wife in comparison with 
the choice of other desirable objects; for he knew from 
hearsay, at least, that loveless marriages have an element 
of horror. But if he had tried to examine the subject 
closely he would probably have imagined that when he 
had got everything ready and could glance at the calendar 
and say “the day has come!” he would be able to look 
about him tranquilly, and perhaps in a severely critical 
spirit, and having discovered the very girl of girls for 
him, he would open the draft-valve of his affections and 
just permit them, under properly prepared conditions, to 
come to a glow. 

But, in truth, he had not closely followed with his mind 
the possible processes of preparing to love somebody. 
He had simply let the matter lie almost dormant, recog- 
nizing some considerable and decidedly pleasing force in 
sex-attraction, but having no notion whatever of the tre- 
mendous meaning involved in that familiar phrase, “fall- 
ing in love” — a phrase which to the inexperienced youth 


Saul Tarsel 


19 

appears to be not without humorous aspects and sug- 
gestions. 

If Drury had been asked at ten o’clock on that Sunday 
morning if he wished to fall in love, he might have said 
“Yes, some day or other; when the necessary prelimi- 
naries of life have all been nicely arranged, and I have 
had an opportunity to examine with a clear mind all the 
concomitant circumstances; but not now; very decidedly 
not now!” 

Now, however, happened to be the time. He could 
have no doubt about the nature of the experience that had 
come to him, although never before had he encountered 
anything even akin to it. He was conscious of a strange 
kind of exaltation, so that his step was lighter, and his 
spirit full of exhilaration, while, at the very same time, he 
was weighed down by fear which bordered upon hope- 
lessness. 

Yes, the sun seemed to shine with more intense bright- 
ness; the atmosphere was sweeter and purer; the trees 
were more beautiful with their leaves fluttering in the 
wind; the old town appeared to have less kinship with the 
prosy and the commonplace; the idlers upon the hotel 
porch were not quite so much objects of indifference to 
him as they had been when he came up the street. 
There was a lustrous blueness to the sky, and a folded, 
shadowy, rolling loveliness in the clouds that he had not 
noticed before. He was lifted up so that existence had 
strange joyousness and his powers seemed so much en- 
larged, so highly charged with intensity and enthusiasm, 
that he really felt as if he could accomplish anything. 

Anything, provided he could be sure that his life would 
no longer be solitary. 

For, running with this wonderful music which had 
come into his soul was a deep undertone of sadness. Yes, 
he was ready to confess that the life of that other being 
had brought rapture to his soul, but what if no responsive 
note were struck in her spirit? Looked at in the light of 


20 


Captain Bluitt 

cold common-sense surely it was more than absurd for 
him to expect that because the vision of a lovely girl, 
standing afar from him, had thrilled him to the centre of 
his being, she should have had a corresponding sensation. 
She had scarcely looked at him. He had heard often of 
spiritual phenomena that seemed to show that soul may 
touch soul without words and without regard for dis- 
tances; but incidents of this kind often have a very unsub- 
stantial basis. One cannot quite prove the truth of 
assertion in such a case. There may be hallucination, or 
mere coincidence, or sheer fabrication. 

He had heard oftener of men infatuated with women 
who scorned and rejected them, and the evidence in these 
instances was of indisputable soundness. To love a 
woman and not to be loved in return, that, he thought, is 
one of the commonest experiences ; and that the misspent 
love is often sincere and genuine was proved by the fact 
that the victim sometimes prefers and seeks death rather 
than to endure the suffering imposed upon him. 

“Here I am,” said Walter to himself, “filled with un- 
speakable joy and with my life and all life presented to 
me in a new and wondrously beautiful aspect, because I 
saw a pretty girl across a church and heard her sing! 
That girl has gone home, as she has done hundreds of 
times before, to eat her dinner, to chat with her family, 
to seek her own pleasures, without even remembering 
that she happened to see a strange young man loitering 
in the opposite pew and looking at her. I am a fool to 
permit myself to be so much affected by so ordinary an 
occurrence.” 

But the argument that ended with clear proof of fool- 
ishness brought him to no conclusion that he would 
abandon the whole matter. When the reasoning was 
ended and the requirements of good sense had been con- 
sidered, and the folly of yielding to such feelings had been 
demonstrated, wave after wave of emotion seemed to 
sweep over his soul as he perceived that he was no longer 


Saul Tarsel 


21 


master of himself. Here was something that he could 
not surrender if he would; and he had no desire to give 
it up. To give it up! He was perfectly certain that he 
would rather perish than to let this passion go. This that 
had come to him so strangely, so unexpectedly — 'this he 
felt had penetrated to the inmost recesses of his life, so 
that it had indeed become part of the life itself, and to 
try to wrench it from him would be to make what should 
be left a wreck and a horror. 

All the things that he had cared for so much, his 
promotion, money, fame, his pleasures— all these within 
two hours had shriveled into such insignificance that they 
actually appeared contemptible. And as his mind con- 
sidered the new force that had infused his spirit, he 
thought within himself that he would joyfully surrender 
these things, everything that he had or could get, just to 
have that other soul joined with his. “Yea,” he said, 
“no task can be too severe, no burden too heavy, no sac- 
rifice too great, but that I will joyfully do, and bear and 
endure if I can have the prize for mine!” 

As he thus thought, in a half delirium of ecstacy and 
pain, his eyes chanced to rest upon a name upon the door 
of the house by which he passed. He saw the name 
without, for an instant, recognizing it, but as he looked 
his mind seemed to clear itself by an effort, and he be- 
came conscious that the name was Hamilton, 

His heart beat faster, and he felt more buoyant than 
ever. “It is her house. She lives there,” he said. 

He examined the building with a quick glance. It was 
a plain but handsome brick house, the walls coming to 
the sidewalk, the outside shutters wide open, but the in- 
terior screened by pretty white curtains. 

Walter walked onward, but he turned to look at the 
house. He did not like to stop; so he passed on to the 
next street, turned down it, walked around the block 
and going to the other side of the main street reduced 
his gait so as to give him the minimum of motion. 


22 


Captain Bluitt 

and observed the Hamilton mansion with eager atten- 
tion. 

“What wouldn’t I give to be in that house now?” he 
said. “A simple matter too! Thousands of people have 
gone there. Young Frobisher has entered there often,” 
and there was a pang in that thought. “You ring the door 
bell,” said Walter, “the servant comes; you enter the hall 
and pass into the parlor, and then SHE comes 1” He felt 
as if he were afire. “And she is in there now, and people 
talk with her actually as if that were nothing, and with 
them this day will roll by just as yesterday rolled by with 
me, and those dull, stupid people with her will have no 
idea that here is a human being nearly wild with the fury 
of a passion that consumes him. How odd it is,” he 
thought, “that they should be so cold and so much en- 
gaged with common things — eating mere dinner, for 
example, — awhile I am almost insane with love for their 
daughter!” 

Drury thought he saw her at the window, and he 
caught his breath. No; it was a servant. She saw him 
looking. He must hurry on. 

And as he quickened his step, he said: “I will become 
acquainted with her; I will go into that house; I will win 
her if man can win her, and the time will come when we 
shall walk these streets together, and enter that house 
together as man and wife.” 

Then he felt more joyful. The matter seemed to him 
to be settled, even if reason did point the other way. 

He reached his uncle’s gate, and swinging it open he 
went upon the porch and knocked upon the door. Wait- 
ing, he turned to look at the river which lay beyond the 
garden and the road, glorious in the sunshine of the 
summer noon-tide. Like all nature about him, the shin- 
ing stream seemed to the young man to have loveliness 
never before discerned. 

The door opened and a negress invited him to enter. 
A negress, small, thin, her face yellow-brown, but more 


Saul Tarsel 


23 


yellow than brown, in color, with high cheek-bones, a 
straight nose, lips strangely thin and firm-set for one of 
her race, and with jet black eyes that seemed even to 
Walter, as he looked at her, to have in them fire and 
fierceness that he had never perceived before excepting 
in the eyes of an untamed animal. 

'‘Good mawnin’ Mister Walter,’’ said Becky Slifer, as 
she closed the door when he had come in. 

This woman had been for six months a servant in 
Captain Bluitt’s house. He did not know her history. 
She was a runaway slave. She had seen her father and 
mother re-sold into slavery to different masters and 
separated from their children, and the children parted 
from each other permanently and hopelessly; and into 
her soul had come a bitter, deadly hatred of the system 
from which these results were produced. She resolved 
that, for herself, she would have freedom, and she fled 
from the home of her mistress and sought refuge in 
Turley in the service of Captain Bluitt. Before she ran 
away her mistress had urged her to marry, and she had 
refused : 

“No, I doan marry. I doan bring no slaves into the 

world, No slave wid my blood in him! Never T' 


CHAPTER HI 

In a Sailor’s Snug Harbor 


W HEN Walter reached Captain Bluitt’s house it 
was almost the hour for the Sunday dinner. 

Captain Elijah Bluitt, the brother of Walter 
Drury’s mother, had been a sea-faring man 
during the larger part of his life. His father had com- 
manded a merchant ship and his desire was that the boy 
should follow the same profession; and so at an early age 
Elijah had been removed from school and placed upon 
a ship commanded by a friend of his father. Here he 
learned, by experience somewhat softened by the friend- 
ship of the Captain, but still having elements of roughness 
and hardship, the business of a sailor. 

In his youth he had some liking for the life, but as 
he grew older it became so distasteful to him that he 
would have quitted it but that he had no training in any 
other industry and that the whole of the small property 
left by his father at death was in ships. Moreover, Bluitt 
found that he had no greater liking for commercial life 
than he had for roving the seas. He would have pre- 
ferred science or literature or one of the so-called learned 
professions, but he had not enough ordinary education 
to permit him to hope for success along these lines and 
he felt that he was too old to begin tasks which he should 
have been required to perform in childhood. 

He did however read much in the leisure hours he 
found during his voyages and while his stock of infor- 
mation enlarged, his hunger for it became more intense. 

Three or four years before he quit the sea, his ship 
lay in the Bay of Naples. It was his first visit to that 
(24) 


In a Sailor’s Snug Harbor 2j 

part of the world, and a miscarriage of freights upon the 
railway compelled him to remain at Naples for several 
weeks. He used the opportunity to visit Rome, of which 
at that time he knew almost nothing. 

Finding a skilful guide who spoke English, Captain 
Bluitt spent nearly two weeks in exploring the city, and 
with the experiences of each succeeding day his wonder 
and his enthusiasm increased. He regarded it as much 
the most interesting place that he had even seen, and 
the Romans as the greatest of all peoples, ancient or 
modern. 

He made up his mind to inform himself respecting 
the Romans, their history and their great city; and so he 
bought every book in the English language that he could 
find that would help him an.d returned to his vessel with 
his baggage loaded with literature and his eagerness for 
historical study so much quickened that the duties of his 
position as commander of a ship seemed almost insuf- 
ferably commonplace and tiresome. 

This fondness for Rome and Romans had not been 
diminished by increasing years. He carried it with him 
upon the return voyage, and even through the exciting 
period when good fortune permitted him to make heavy 
gains from the movements which followed the discovery 
of the California gold deposits. 

Captain Bluitt’s ship was in the Pacific at that time. 
He had just completed a voyage to Valparaiso when the 
news came of the rush across the Isthmus to California. 
He sailed to Panama, carrying a cargo of provisions. He 
crammed his ship with eager gold-hunters who paid 
heavy charges for transportation and when he reached 
San Francisco he sold his cargo for prices that seemed 
to him to make him rich. 

In this kind of business he continued for three years; 
and then, doubling the Horn, he sailed home again with 
a comfortable fortune resolved to give up life upon the 
sea. 


26 


Captain Bluitt 

It is to those who have that new riches come; and 
Captain Bluitt had no sooner sold his vessel and gathered 
his gains together, than an uncle died and bequeathed 
another small fortune to him and to his sister Puella 
Bluitt, then a teacher in a public school, who joined him 
in making a home at Turley and who, at the time when 
this tale begins, was in her thirty-fifth year. 

Captain Bluitt was a man of middle height, inclined 
to stoutness, with a ruddy countenance, bright grey eyes, 
and with white streaks in hair which persisted in stand- 
ing straight up above his forehead, like a plume in a 
soldier’s helmet. 

Walter was almost a stranger in his uncle’ house; and 
so he had looked about him with curious interest when 
he first entered it on Saturday evening; and he still found 
objects to attract his attention as he awaited in the 
library, with his uncle and aunt, the call for dinner. 

Upon the mantel over the fire-place he had observed 
three queer porcelain images, which looked as though 
they might be idols from India. One stood on either end 
of the shelf and the other, of hideous visage and distorted 
shape, remained precisely in the middle. 

After some general talk, Walter, standing by the fire- 
place, facing Captain and Miss Bluitt who sat in rocking 
chairs, one to the right, the other to the left, extended his 
arm to the image in the middle and touching it with his 
finger as he half turned about, said: 

“What is that, uncle?” 

Captain Bluitt smiled, and as if he were only half in 
earnest, answered: 

“That is a Lar, my son; — a Lar.” 

It was Walter’s turn to smile. 

“A Lar! Why what on earth put you up to getting 
a Lar?” 

“It is an old Roman idea, you know, I had a kind of 
notion we might as well have one. The Lar represented 
the dead ancestors and the Penates were a sort of house- 


27 


In a Sailor’s Snug Harbor 

hold deities. Those two at the end of the mantel come 
somewhere near to my idea of Penates.” 

Walter looked at them and his smile broadened. 

*‘Well, well! Lares and Penates! They are queer 
things to find in Turley! And this Lar represents our 
ancestors, does he?” 

'T’d be sorry to think any of mine ever looked like 
that,” remarked Miss Puella. 

“O! I suppose nobody ever expected to make abso- 
lutely exact likenesses,” said the Captain. “The idea, I 
think, is that one Lar, just one, stands for the whole lot 
of your folks that have preceded you.” 

“This is a rough little fellow to represent so many good 
people,” said Walter, lifting the image and examining it. 

“I picked up him and the other two in India. They 
were given to me by a friend of mine in Calcutta; a fine 
fellow, too, Thompson was; and he had a sad fate: — he 
was murdered by his servant. I brought them home and 
when I unpacked them the fancy struck me that one 
would do for a Lar and the other two for Penates. Don’t 
you think, Walter, that those two at the ends are about 
as near right for Penates as we could reasonably expect?” 

“I don’t know that I am much of a judge of such 
things, but if Penates usually were homely to the point 
of exciting consternation I should say that they will 
answer.” 

“Perfectly hideous, Walter! aren’t they?” asked Miss 
Bluitt. 

“You know,” said the captain, “the old Roman idea 
was to place the Lar on the hearth and to put the Penates 
in the pantry; but your aunt didn’t like to have them 
there, and really I suppose it does not make much differ- 
ence anyway; does it?” 

“I should think not,” answered Walter. 

“The Roman father of the family,” continued Captain 
Bluitt, “used to pray every morning to the Lar, just to 
start the day right.” 


28 


Captain Bluitt 

“I am awfully afraid your uncle will get to doing that,” 
said Miss Bluitt. “Think of idolatry in this house, 
Walter!” 

“No!” said the captain, “I don’t think I shall go that 
far. It would be almost too irregular for Presbyterians. 
If the Lar has any good in him for us he will have to 
give it to us spontaneously.” 

“Dr. Frobisher never liked the images,” said Miss 
Bluitt. 

“No,” remarked the captain, “he is suspicious. I told 
him one day what they were and he seemed very sad. 
The next Sunday I was at Church he gave out the hymn 
‘From Greenland’s Icy Mountains’ and said: ‘The choir 
will please begin to sing at the second verse.’ Then he 
turned and looked straight at our pew while he repeated 
mournfully the words: ‘The heathen in his blindness 
bows down to wood and stone.’ But it is all right; I 
didn’t mind it; the doctor’s intentions are good.” 

“I fully explained to him,” said Miss Bluitt, “that 
brother never thought of such a thing.” 

“Not exactly ‘never thought of it,’ Puella, for I have 
had the notion once or twice to try it, but I never will.” 

“It would be outrageous, brother! and Dr. Frobisher 
insisted anyhow that it was setting a bad example to have 
such heathenish things sitting about.” 

“I see,” remarked Walter, pointing to a table by the 
wall, “that you also have the wolf and Romulus and 
Remus.” 

“Yes,” replied Captain Bluitt, turning toward the table, 
“I got that in Rome. It’s pure silver and cost me a 
summum bomm, a good sum, as those old fellows used 
to say. They have them all over Rome, you know. 
Queer, idea, wasn’t it Walter, to start a young family on 
wolf’s milk?” 

“It was perfectly scandalous for their own mother to 
desert them!” exclaimed Miss Bluitt. 

“By the way, Walter,” said the captain, picking up the 


In a Sailor’s Snug Harbor 29 

image, ^Vhich do you think is Romulus and which 
Remus?” 

“I can’t imagine,” answered Walter, looking at the 
group critically. 

“I’ve always had the notion this was Romulus,” said 
Captain Bluitt, touching one of the fissures. 

“Why?” 

“Well, both their noses are flattened, but this one has 
what looks to me more like a Roman nose.” 

^ Captain Bluitt might have been disposed to continue 
discussion of the famous twins, but just then the dinner- 
bell rang and Walter, who longed for a chance to ask 
about Miss Hamilton, was not sorry to permit Romulus 
and Remus to repose once more upon the table. 

The captain, however, still had his mind upon Roman 
things, and when dinner had begun he said: 

“You care a little about Rome, I suppose, my boy?” 

“O yes! of course, a little.” 

'‘Ah! there was a great people! Never was such a 
people, in my judgment!” continued Captain Bluitt. 
“What wouldn’t I give to have lived among them!” 

“It must have been horrid,” said Miss Bluitt. “I am 
so glad we didn’t.” 

“Think what it must have been, Walter, to know Scipio 
Africanus and the Mother of the Gracchi! And what a 
rascal that man Tarquin was! He’s the man, isn’t he, to 
whom some old writer applied the phrase lusus naturae — 
naturally loose?” 

“I hardly think so,” said Walter, laughing. 

“And there is Numa Pompilius! What a man he must 
have been! I am going to see him in heaven, sure.” 

“Maybe he won’t be there,” said Walter. 

“Maybe you won’t be there, brother,” added Miss 
Bluitt, “if you really do begin to care too much for 
idols.” 

“I will see him if we are both there,” said the captain 
sternly. “Wasn’t it smart, Walter, for that man in the 


JO Captain Bluitt 

far-of¥ time to work out the problem of the seasons? No 
instruments, no mathematics worth speaking of — nothing 
to help him! I’ve often wondered how he managed it. 

I would like to give him some points in navigation.” 

“Not in heaven, brother!” 

“You don’t know. Just as likely as not navigation is 
used there. Nobody can tell.” 

“I’m afraid,” responded Miss Bluitt, “there may be 
queer things and queer people in the other world. Sup- 
pose, for example, Goliath should be there!” 

“I hardly think I would let that worry me, if I were 
you, Puella,” said the captain. 

Walter, in the hope of diverting the conversation, re- 
marked that he should be compelled to leave Turley upon 
that very evening. 

“I am sorry, my son,” said the captain. “I am very 
sorry. And how are you getting along in that business 
of commercial travelling? Not much in it?” 

“I have failed completely,” said Walter, sadly. ‘T am 
positively sure of one thing: — that I was never born for a 
salesman. There is a complete trade-paralysis, appar- 
ently, as soon as I reach a given market. I am disgusted 
with the business.” 

“Walter,” remarked the captain, “I knew you would 
fail. You were not built for that kind of thing. You 
are naturally a writer and a speaker. I heard you speak 
once and I saw right off that you have the gift. It is 
actually wicked to put a man like you at hawking notions 
around the land; positively wicked!” 

“But I must earn my living, somehow!” 

“Certainly! but you can’t do it at work you’re not fit 
for. That’s what’s the matter with nearly all the men that 
fail. Half the fools are no fools, but just misfits. The 
world’s full of globular men who have cubical jobs.” 

“I’m afraid so,” said Walter, smiling. 

“Find your place, my son, to start with. Have you a 
gift for fishing? Fish! and let gunning alone. Is your 


In a Sailor’s Snug Harbor 

call for submarine diving? Very well! Don’t go into 
the flying-machine business! I tell you Walter much of 
the misery in the world is caused by men getting into 
wrong places. I ought never to have been a sailor. My 
real call was to get an education and to be a college 
professor.” 

I have some other call than the one I am, answering 
now,” said Walter, ^‘but it is not perfectly clear.” 

“If you ^ yearn for botany,” said Captain Bluitt with 
emphasis, “keep away from astronomy. Don’t put a boy 
at doctoring if Nature intended him to play the French 
horn! Walter, the world is out of joint, somehow. If 
things were as they ought to be there would be a right 
place for every man and a good husband 'for every 
woman.” 

Walter began to hope that his opportunity was near 
at hand to speak of the matter that most interested him. 

“Yes sir!” continued Captain Bluitt, striking the table 
with the butt of the handle of his knife. “There is a good 
husband for every woman and a good wife for every 
man — somewhere; and if they meet, they know each 
other instantly.” 

“I don’t believe it,” said Miss Bluitt. 

“You don’t believe it because some couples that are 
made for each other never meet. That’s what I say! 
The world has been disjointed; but that doesn’t change 
the fact.” 

“The tramps seem to have missed their right places,” 
observed Walter. 

“Very well!” said the captain sharply, “and how do 
you account for tramps?” 

“I don’t try to account for them.” 

“But I do!” exclaimed Captain Bluitt. “It is this way: 
A man whose father had a wrong job marries a girl whose 
father had a wrong job and whose mother was the 
daughter of another misfit. Their son is a tramp sure.” 
“A hereditary misfit!” suggested Walter. 


?2 


Captain Bluitt 

“Just so! the man has almost every particle of original 
force so twisted and half-paralyzed that he can’t tell what 
he is good for.” 

“Then you don’t blame a tramp for being a tramp?” 
asked Walter. 

“Not severely,” responded the captain, with a benev- 
olent look upon his face. “The man is born that way. 
Hereditary influence overpowers him. He can’t help 
himself. Do you know what I would do if I were very 
rich?” 

“What?” asked Puella and Walter in one breath. 

“I would start a factory and call it the Misfit Mill. I 
would make things that nobody wants and I would fill 
the mill with operatives not one of whom knows how to 
do anything. Just spend the money on them. How do 
you think that would work, Walter?” 

“You would never have done for a professor of 
Political Economy uncle, that’s certain.” 

“Maybe not,” responded the captain. “I wouldn’t try 
to run the mill for science, but for philanthropy. I should 
like to find out what each man would do if he could do 
as he pleased. I have an idea that every human creature, 
’way down in his soul, unknown to himself perhaps, has 
a capacity for some kind of work. What he wants is a 
chance. In my Misfit Mill he should have a chance. If 
he had a turn for mechanics, let him start some mechan- 
ical job. If poetry were his line. I’d give him pen and 
ink and paper and set him to turning out poetry. I’d say 
to each one, ‘Now, my man, you never had a chance to 
follow your natural inclination, and I’m going to give 
you one. Tell me what thing you’d rather do than to do 
any other thing and I’ll give you living wages for 
doing it.’ ” 

“Eating and sleeping would be found the most agree- 
able occupation for most of them, I guess,” said Puella 
Bluitt. 

“No, I don’t believe it,” answered her brother; “but 




In a Sailor’s Snug Harbor 

maybe I’m wrong; perhaps a long succession of inter- 
marriages by misfits can root out a man’s original love 
for his own work. I’d like to try the experiment, any- 
way.” 

“You weren’t at church this morning, Walter?” asked 
Miss Puella, somewhat weary of talk upon a subject 
about which she had heard much upon previous occa- 
sions. 

“Yes, I was at your church,” answered Walter. 

“Why, I didn’t see you there.” 

“I sat over near the door by the pulpit.” 

“What did you think of Dr. Frobisher’s preaching?” 

“Very good! Very good indeed!” Walter hoped that 
his aunt would not question him more closely along that 
line. 

“And our music?” asked his aunt. 

Walter’s interest at once became strong. 

“Ah, that was fine, very fine! Your organist is — ?” 

“Dr. Frobisher’s son; Lochinvar. Stupid name, 
isn’t it?” 

“I liked the singing even better than the playing, par- 
ticularly the singing of that young contralto.” 

Walter endeavored to say this in a manner expressive 
of no great interest; but his uncle’s attention was arrested 
by something in the tone of the young man’s voice, and 
he was not slow in his perceptions. He looked sharply at 
Walter. Puella answered without suspicion. 

“O! that is Dorothea Hamilton. Isn’t she lovely? A 
charming voice and manner, too. Did you particularly 
notice her, Walter?” 

Walter felt the flush creep over his face, and there was 
an impulse to clear his throat, before he answered. 

“Yes; I thought her voice fine; but I was not quite 
near enough to see her face with perfect distinctness.” 

“She is just sweet,” said his aunt. “That’s the only 
word for her. I shouldn’t like anything better than for 
you to get a wife like that.” 


3 


34 Captain Bluitt 

Walter laughed as if to appear to treat the suggestion 
lightly. “O that kind of thing is far in the future for me,” 
he said. 

'‘And don’t you hurry it, my boy, either,” remarked 
the captain. “When you meet the right one you will 
know her, and it’s not safe to try to force things until 
you do meet and know her.” 

“There is no danger that I shall do that,” said Walter. 

“Because, my son,” continued Captain Bluitt, “while 
a misfit occupation is bad, a misfit marriage is as near 
to clear misery as you can get this side of the grave. 
And then,” said the captain, taking up the subject with 
the tone of a man who had reached impregnable con- 
clusions, and as if Walter were in pressing need of wise 
counsel upon this particular subject, “and then I’ll tell 
you : look out for posterity when you take up this marry- 
ing business. You don’t marry the girl only; you marry 
papa and mamma and the cousins and the aunts and all 
the miscellaneous relations, sideways, forwards, back- 
wards and cat-a-comered. You also take on grandpa 
and grandma and great grandpa and great grandma, eight 
or ten of these maybe.” 

“You’ll scare the boy, brother,” said Puella. 

“No; it never hurts a sensible man to look the facts 
squarely in the face. The girl is lovely, is she? Very 
well; start with that, if you please. But grandpa was a 
little bit shady, one way or another; or great grandpa, 
one or the other of them, wouldn’t have registered quite 
A I as they say; or somewhere else along the line there 
was an ancestor whose reputation wasn’t clear white? 
Now, the poor girl can’t help it, but, my son, you may 
put it down in your memorandum book as a certainty 
that in one of her boys or girls (and yours) the crooked 
streak that the forefather had will come out, and maybe 
in all of them. It’s like a cast in the eye. Now, my 
son, don’t you marry a hereditary squint, — physical or 
moral.” 


In a Sailor’s Snug Harbor 

'‘I am much obliged to you, for the suggestion,” said 
Walter. 

Captain Bluitt became contemplative. Toying with his 
glass he said: 

‘T’ve seen two brothers, both fine fellows, marry. One 
picked out a high-bred girl, even better than himself. 
The other married a pretty girl who had no bringing up 
and no family worth noticing. Their children grew up 
and didn’t know one another. Their grandchildren were 
as far apart as the Equator is from the Arctic Circle. 
That’s the way the thing goes. A man can’t fly too high 
when he is out for a life-partner.” 

“Brother, you don’t mean to give Walter the idea that 
the Hamiltons are not nice people?” 

“O no! certainly not. I didn’t have them in my mind 
at all. I was speaking generally. No, no! I don’t warm 
to John Hamilton very much myself, but I know of noth- 
ing against him, and his wife is one of the saints. You 
know, Walter, I don’t care much for the old-time saints 
that some church people pay attention to. Maybe they 
were saints and maybe they weren’t. The chances I think 
are about even; but I’m very fond of the home-saints. I 
know about them. They are tolerably scarce around 
Turley — dreadfully scarce we might say, perhaps, but 
John Hamilton’s wife is one of them; and John is all 
right, too, I guess, but he has a long way to go I should 
say before he can edge in among the saints.” 

“His daughter is one, I think,” added Puella. 

“So do I,” said the captain, heartily. “Yes; she is 
hard to beat, that’s a fact. But,” continued Bluitt, taking 
up the talk about matrimony, “there’s one thing more I 
might say to a young man who is looking for a wife. 
Quite likely it isn’t necessary in your case Walter, but I 
have really known men to court papa and mamma first, 
instead of courting the girl. Now that’s just fatal! What 
you want is the girl. Start there! You may get papa 
and mamma and the whole caravan of relations with 


36 Captain Bluitt 

you; but what good will that do if the girl won’t have 
you? On the other hand, if the girl says yes, it can t 
make much difference— that is in the long run, if the 
entire clan says no.” 

The captain and his sister and Walter left the table and 
entered the library. 

“You will stay with us until to-morrow, Walter, won’t 
you?” asked his aunt. 

“No, I am sorry, but I must drive down to Donovan 
to-night. I should like to stay” (and Walter thought how 
much it would please him to go to the church again and 
to see and hear Miss Hamilton), “but I must attend to 
my business, poor as it is, and business requires me to 
be in Donovan at an earlier hour to-morrow than I could 
reach there if I stayed here all night.” 

“I should like you to hear that Indian prince who is 
to speak. Everybody says he is very eloquent and inter- 
esting.” 

Walter cared little for this eloquent person or his 
speeches or his cause, but he answered: 

“It is too bad, but I must go. I hope to return on 
Tuesday. Then I shall go up to the city, and. Aunt, I 
intend to give up commercial traveling.” 

“What will you do then?” 

“I know a man connected with one of the daily papers, 
and I shall try to get upon the staff as an editor, or even 
a reporter, if I can do no better. I feel confident that I 
can succeed in that profession.” 

Walter lighted a cigar and went out to walk about the 
garden. His mind was occupied with but one subject. 
He was resolved to know Dorothea Hamilton before 
another Sunday came. Were there no other way to meet 
her, he would boldly ask his aunt to devise some method 
of bringing them together, 


CHAPTER IV 

Involving the Church Militant 

L eaving his uncle’s house at seven o’clock on 
Sunday evening in a buggy, Walter Drury drove 
slowly up the street, walking his horse so that 
he might look again at the house in which lived 
Miss Hamilton. As he came near he saw her, in a 
lovely dress of white muslin, standing upon the side- 
porch which opened upon the garden. She had some 
bright-colored flowers in her hand, and she was alone. 
She seemed to be looking out towards the river. Walter 
gazed intently at her. She turned her head and saw 
him. He thought she recognized him; he even thought 
he could perceive the color flush her cheeks; but in- 
stantly she wheeled about and entered the house. She 
was more beautiful as she had stood there, bare-headed 
and in the simple dress, than she had been in church. 

He looked at the windows of the house as he drove 
slowly by, and he believed that he had another glimpse 
of her within the parlor. He was not sure that she was 
not looking at him at such distance behind the window 
as permitted her to be in some measure screened. 

Walter urged the horse onward while he formed 
another resolution to know her and to win her if that 
could be accomplished. 

Out beyond the boundaries of the town he drove while 
the shadows of the evening deepened towards twilight, 
and as he pushed on, his mind was so much absorbed by 
reflection upon the strange experience that had come to 
him that he hardly noticed an open carriage, drawn by 
two horses, which passed him rapidly, conveying Rev. 

(37) 


jS Captain Bluitt 

Dr. Mallow and the Indian Prince, Bunder Foot Singh, 
who were driving over from Donovan so that the noble 
and dusky Oriental might preach to Rev. Dr. Frobisher’s 
congregation. 

Rev. Dr. Frobisher had passed his sixtieth year, and 
for more than twenty years he had been pastor of the 
Presbyterian Church of Turley. He was a large man, 
not stout, but heavily built, with massive frame, broad 
shoulders, large hands and feet. His head, long and 
high, was covered with thick sandy hair, his nose and 
chin were strong, and kindly eyes looked out from his 
golden spectacles. 

As a preacher he had been thought by his friends to 
have had no little power in his younger days; and some 
regarded him as a man of more than usual learning. 
Long ago he had written a pamphlet upon the authorship 
of the Pentateuch which was perfectly orthodox and 
really attracted much attention. 

Later a brief work in which he considered the mean- 
ing of the Song of Solomon provoked rather warm con- 
troversy because of the originality of the opinions 
advanced; and there was a famous sermon of his upon 
the Impending Crisis which, when it was first preached, 
twenty years ago, created much enthusiasm. As he came 
down from the pulpit the Elders, backed by the Trustees, 
insisted that he should repeat it on the following Sunday, 
which he did in the presence of the largest congregation 
ever assembled in the church on Sunday. Then the 
church officers, after consultation, considered that a dis- 
course of such large importance, dealing really with con- 
cerns of national interest, should go further upon its 
errand of beneficence. They asked permission to publish 
it, and the Doctor granted the request, with a genuine 
effort to feel humble, but still with a strong sense that he 
was really engaged in doing good and in playing his part 
fairly well in the great drama of human life. The edition 
comprised two thousand copies, but when twelve hundred 


The Church Militant 39 

copies had gone out the demand fell away, and the Doctor 
for years had looked now and then upon the remaining 
eight hundred tied up with twine and brown-paper and 
lying dust-covered in the closet beneath one of his book- 
cases; and as he looked he sometimes sighed and had a 
deepened impression that worldly things after all, at the 
very best, are little more than vanity. 

But the days of excitement and eager expectation and 
craving for a swifter forward movement had now passed 
away. The fiery zeal for the conversion of the world to 
better things had burned itself out. Long ago he had 
been enveloped and smothered by the conviction that any 
large part of the task of uplifting the race was beyond his 
power. Still he held firmly to the old faith. Still he did 
really try to believe that he kept himself ready for the 
day when the summons should come for him. 

But he had almost stopped preaching to sinners. The 
truths were so old, surely everybody must know them 
by heart by this time; and most of the good texts had 
been preached threadbare. All of his new sermons were 
addressed to believers and this seemed to be not an in- 
defensible practice, for only believers, or people who were 
believed to be believers, came to church. 

There were no young men in the congregation except- 
ing a few who were kept there by habit or family influence 
or by some little interest in the music or the church 
societies. The greater number of the members were 
women and girls whom he could not regard as frightful 
offenders and who seemed to be quite satisfied with his 
preaching. 

In truth the church had gone to sleep with respect to 
spiritual things and the good pastor’s piety, though sound 
and genuine, had much of somnolency in it. 

Sometimes the Doctor found it really hard to discover 
new subjects for sermons in the Bible and he did not 
like to preach the old ones too often. He had a series 
on the Sermon on the Mount, written in his younger days 


40 Captain Bluitt 

and re-written and preached again twice in the last eight 
years; while his sermon on the Lord’s Prayer, which he 
liked very much, had occasioned whispers in the congre- 
gation when he began it again four years ago for the 
third time in ten years. 

Now and then it had happened that a younger preacher 
of considerable powers came to find a place in his pulpit 
for a single Sunday, and then, as the Doctor listened to 
the eager, fervid oratory, impelled by a soul that was 
in hot earnest, he felt conscience-stricken and mentally 
resolved that he would gird himself anew for the contest; 
that he would pray more heartily and would infuse the 
power of a new life into the church that had been intrusted 
to him. 

And so for a few Sundays he would endeavor to arouse 
attention, perhaps by preaching from odd texts, such as 
“Four Carpenters” (Zech. i, 20) or “Comfort me with 
Apples” (Song of Solomon 2. 5), or “He went down and 
slew a lion in a pit on a snowy day” (i Chron. ii), or 
“My beloved is unto me as a cluster of camphire in the 
vineyards of En-gedi” (Song of Solomon i. 14). 

He had a thought once or twice of taking as a subject 
for a stirring discourse the five Foolish Virgins, but some- 
how he shrank from pushing home the conclusions of 
that parable. 

Then, as the influence of the eloquent visitor dimin- 
ished more and more, the pastor glided back into the old 
way and he and the people of the church folded their 
hands and went to sleep again. 

A violent shock of some kind was needed to arouse the 
shepherd and the sheep, and the shock was soon to be 
applied. 


Mrs. Frobisher always insisted upon spelling the family 
name with a small o and with a dash under that vowel. 
She explained that the name was spelled in this manner 


The Church Militant 41 

not only by the original Frobisher, the great navigator, 
who was practically the founder of the family, but by the 
cotemporary Frobishers, learned and unlearned, and by 
the subsequent Frobishers through seven or more gen- 
erations. 

The practice, she admitted, had fallen into desuetude, 
probably through mere carelessness, but possibly because 
of indifference natural to persons who had matters of 
large concern to deal with. But that the method of 
spelling is right, having the warrant of usage at the time 
the name first came into existence, appeared to her to 
be beyond dispute and by adopting it she had simply 
resumed the ancient practice. 

She required also that the name should not be pro- 
nounced Frgb-isher, with the o sounded as in mob, but 
Frobisher, with the o sounded as in mote and boat. 

Her claim was that this was the real purpose of under- 
lining the o — making it long; and she never lost an 
opportunity, when the name was wrongly pronounced 
through the inadvertence of any of her friends, of re- 
pronouncing it with strong emphasis so that the error 
might have immediate correction. 

To Dr. Frobisher the matter seemed to have rather 
trifling importance; and it vexed his wife not a little 
that he would sometimes, when off his guard in animated 
conversation, speak of himself or his relatives as Frobish- 
ers with the o as in mob. 

It had been to Mrs. Frobisher a matter of grave dis- 
content that her husband’s given name and hers, were 
Isaiah and Mary. She made up her mind early in her 
married life that no child of hers should ever be afflicted 
by the seriously overworked Scripture names. 

Thus when her boy was born Mrs. Frobisher, after long 
reflection upon the subject, insisted upon calling him 
Lochinvar. This the boys at school contracted to 
^‘Lucky” and he passed through a not very fortunate 
existence bearing the name of Lucky Frobisher. 


42 Captain Bluitt 

Mrs. Frobisher had active membership in four societies 
in the city and honorary membership in nine others in 
various parts of America and Europe. Besides, she was 
the President of the General Culture Society of Turley 
and she was engaged with five other women of Revo- 
lutionary ancestry in trying to organize a national society 
composed of women whose ancestors lived in America 
prior to 1776. 

It was part of her pride to be an American through all 
the lines of her recent ancestry. Her family-tree had 
roots in Great Britain, but no forefather or foremother 
of her’s had come to this continent later than 1704. It 
was to her one of the most comforting facts of her family 
history that her mother’s great grandfather had cooper- 
ated with Franklin in collecting wagons for General 
Braddock’s famous and tragic campaign in I 755 - The 
name of this ancestor was Smith. Mrs. Frobisher always 
alluded to him as Commissary General Smith, or General 
Smith; and although Florabella Burns when angry with 
Mrs. Frobisher upon one occasion had said that, for the 
life of her, she could find no trace of any Smith in Frank- 
lin’s own narrative of this movement, and that if any 
Smith had been engaged in the operation he would have 
been a mere civilian as Franklin was, Mrs. Frobisher 
had a letter signed by the aforesaid Smith, written at 
Carlisle, Pennsylvania, and not only referring to his con- 
nection with Franklin, but signing himself “Commissary 
General.” 

Mrs. Frobisher also claimed that her father’s grand- 
father had been upon the staff of General Anthony Wayne 
and that he was severely wounded at Paoli while trying 
to rally the surprised and panic-stricken troops. Mrs. 
Frobisher claimed, in fact, that her father’s grandfather 
and General Wayne were the only two persons who did 
not lose their heads and she said her father used to have 
a letter written to his grandfather by General Wayne, 
after the war, reminding him of his noble conduct on that 


43 


The Church Militant 

fatal night and asking him to pay a visit to the General’s 
house in Chester County, Pennsylvania. This important 
letter, which would have put Mrs. Frobisher’s claim to 
heroic ancestry upon a basis of solid and incontestible 
security, had most unfortunately been destroyed when 
her father’s house was burned in the great conflagration 
in the city many years before. 

But it was Mrs. Frobisher’s proudest boast that her 
mother was, to use Mrs. Frobisher’s own phrase, “A 
Metcalf of Aramingo.” 

The Metcalfs owned half a dozen large plantations in 
the Aramingo neighborhood and for nearly a century 
they had been prominent people in that region. 

Colonel Jabez N. Metcalf, her mother’s father, had 
fought a duel with Judge O’Finerty in 1803, and Mrs. 
Frobisher not infrequently referred to this bloodless com- 
bat in such language as became the wife of a Presbyterian 
pastor; but still a close observer might have discerned 
in her manner and tone a certain gleam of exultation, 
which appeared to indicate that she regarded her grand- 
father’s participation in this engagement not without 
feelings of pride. 

More than once she had expressed in terms of much 
fervor her gratitude that the elder Metcalf had not been 
slain in this aristocratic encounter; and one day when 
she had breathed her thankfulness for the fourth or fifth 
time at a meeting of the General Culture Society, Mrs. 
McGuire, a perfectly plebeian person, was mean enough 
to whisper to Florabella Burns that she wished O’Fin- 
erty’s bullet had gone home. 

Mrs. Frobisher’s prominence in all the societies, and 
her assumption of authority generally, found acquiescence 
that would probably not have been yielded without a 
struggle but for the well-known fact that the minister’s 
wife had money in her own right. 

It may be imagined that, whatever her spiritual con- 
dition, Mrs. Frobisher was not physically torpid. 


44 


Captain Bluitt 

‘ She was a small woman, with small features and with 
blue-grey eyes conveying the impression of intensity of 
character. Mrs. Frobisher had force. She managed 
every woman’s society in the church, and in Sunday 
School she taught the Infant Class. Her strong point 
was thought to be black-board work, supplying object- 
lessons to the infant eye and mind. 

Some adult persons who came in to hear her and to 
see her, sometimes were ungracious enough to say that 
they did not understand these lessons ; but nobody knows 
where the fault really lay. Perhaps there was indeed 
some reason for the apprehension expressed by one 
visitor that the unfortunate children would come out from 
that Infant Class with a permanent and bitter hatred -of 
black-boards which, when they entered the public school, 
would much discourage them as they began the familiar 
and ceaseless pursuit of the least common multiple. 

But, at the very worst, it must be confessed that Mrs. 
Frobisher’s methods of instruction could hardly have been 
so disheartening to children as were a few of the books 
that were found in Sunday School libraries at that time, 
and were indeed in Dr. Frobisher’s Sunday School library 
under the direction of Davis Cook. 


In the fifties some of the methods employed by devout 
writers for the purpose of impregnating young minds 
with the truths of religion were of a kind that may be 
considered questionable. 

It was not enough to instruct the little ones of the 
existence of a moral law indicated by the words, “What- 
soever a man soweth, that shall he also reap;” but worthy 
persons undertook to present what children were to 
regard as illustrations of the methods by which the law 
worked. 

Thus affecting, and even terrifying, tales were pre- 
pared representing, for example, little girls surreptitiously 


The Church Militant 4^ 

obtaining jam from the pantry and, in their haste, drop- 
ping portions of the preserve upon their pinafores. En- 
deavoring to remove the guilty stains with water, they 
saturated their clothing and caught cold. Then they were 
whirled off into eternity by the swift processes of pneu- 
monia and with no hope at all of better things in Heaven. 
1 Or little boys were indicated as preferring fishing to 
Sabbath School on Sunday and obtaining the just and 
necessary reward of such wicked preference in the shape 
of a watery grave. 

! The children to whom these awful warnings were sup- 
L; plied and who might have accepted them as helps to the 
i| journey along the straight and narrow path, lost much 
of the force of the instruction, and indeed had their poor 
little fragments of faith much shaken, by frequent and 
familiar experimental demonstration that this alleged law 
of immediate retribution has by no means unvarying 
; operation. Many of them had their own secret memories 
; of larcenous proceedings with jam, during which none 
was dropped upon pinafore or floor, and which were pro- 
ductive of deliciousness of sensation of which jam seemed 
incapable when it had been procured under less irregular 
and sinful circumstances; and some of them were the 
' familiar friends of boys who, in defiance of environing 
, perils, often went fishing on Sunday and came safely 
home to bear verbal testimony to the delights of the 
i practice and presenting visible evidence, in the shape of 
bunches of fish, that the pastime had not been without 
: consequences of substantial value. Thus it may be feared 
that, as the years rolled by, the young minds, having 
: compared the written testimony of persons whom they 
I did not know, with the evidence supplied by personal 
I experience and by observation of the conduct of persons 
■ whom they did know, may really have reached the con- 
! elusion that there must be something seriously defective 
in the assertion that vicious behavior produces hurtful 


46 Captain Bluitt 

results, or else that stealing jam and fishing on Sunday 
are performances which contain no element of evil. 

There was one favorite writer for children — a favorite | 
with the parents — who, inspired with a praiseworthy I 
desire to impel them into paths of peace, produced certain j 
volumes which were classed under the general name of 
Allegories. In these little stories the characters were 
children. The books were bound in black, to begin with, 
so that they were dismal and discouraging merely to 
look at, as they lay upon the table at home. 

One of them began with a graphic description of a 
place called the Desert of Zin. That word Zin, which 
greeted the infant mind upon the very first page, had in 
it something that was sinister and fear-inspiring. Sin 
was bad enough, but sin could be partly comprehended. 
Zin, however, appeared to have some sort of a kinship 
to sin, and yet to be infinitely and incomprehensibly more 
dreadful. Even if Zin had been a place of waving trees 
and fountains and flowers and birds it would have been 
open to grave suspicious that behind these beautiful 
objects lurked some mysterious destructive force, con- 
cerning which children might have apprehensions and 
would do well to keep their wits about them. But Zin, 
far from having any alluring scenery, was represented 
as a dreary, dead, forbidding desert, in which was no kind 
of vegetable life but prickly things to catch and tear you, 
and no animal life excepting snakes and scorpions ever 
alert to bite and poison you. 

Most of the boy-readers felt that they could pull 
through safely with snakes alone, because you can at the 
worst kill a snake with a stick and wait for his tail to 
die at sundown; but the habits, and indeed the very out- 
lines, of the scorpion were unknown, and so the assured 
presence of scorpions which lay in wait for errant boys 
appeared to make that wilderness of Zin in a particular 
sense terrible. Every healthy boy felt as if he would 
like very much to stay away from it; but this, the kindly 


The Church Militant 47 

author assured him, he could not do, for the wilderness 
of Zin, in the allegory, represented this green old rolling 
earth of ours, and the journey across the cactus-planted, 
scorpion-haunted desert stood for the human life that 
every good and bad boy must live. 

Some very bold boys felt that, bad as was the outlook 
presented by the author, they could face the horrors of 
the journey with the boys and girls in the book if these 
had been named Jim and Aleck and Mary Jane; but the 
writer of the allegory knew the child-mind, and he was 
too acute to supply any such excuse for diminishing the 
miseries of the situation. The boys were named Ulric 
and Bertram and Alaric and Perseus, and the girls were 
Hilda and Ethelberta and Ursula, — names belonging to 
no children known to the poor little American Sunday 
School scholar, and conveying to his mind the notion 
that about these very boys and girls themselves there was 
something elfish and uncanny. 

All through the book Ulric and Hilda tramped across 
the desert striving in a desperate and most discouraging 
manner to reach some kind of a Promised Land, away 
off somewhere, and as the Sunday School child of 
thoughtful mind read and read, he was likely to reach the 
conclusion that the best thing the Promised Land had 
to offer wasn’t worth all that misery, and finally to give 
his sympathy and his approval to Alaric and Ethelberta, 
who didn’t try hard enough and so missed the Promised 
Land and were lost somewhere in the desert. 

The author had another book which made an impres- 
sion upon some of his child-readers that half a century 
has not availed to efface. It was called ‘The Great 
Army.” The principal character was a very human kind 
of a boy named Adrian. This boy, apparently without 
giving to the matter the kind of serious reflection which 
always, in the case of rightly-constructed boys, precedes 
important action, enlisted in the Great Army and agreed 
to stand fast by its rules and regulations. But, after a 


48 Captain Bluitt 

while, when the Great Army met the foe face to face, 
something or other about the enemy exercised a fas- 
cinating influence upon Adrian’s mind. Just what it was 
that struck Adrian so favorably was not wholly clear; 
but the temptation came to him in an alluring form, and 
he at once forgot all of his vows of allegiance to the 
Great Army, left the ranks and went right over towards 
the foe, with the purpose to enlist on that side against 
his recent friends. 

But Adrian was not permitted to go very far. Half 
way between the opposing forces a bottomless pit — 
actually bottomless — had been arranged, and the unhappy 
deserter of course stumbled into it and fell. 

The faithful members of the Great Army not only saw 
him fall, but the author explained that they could hear 
Adrian’s frightful yells, growing fainter and more faint 
as his descent was accelerated in accordance, it may be 
presumed, with the law of gravitation governing the 
movement of falling bodies. 

That was an awful story. No doubt many a poor little 
urchin, after reading it with tingling nerves and creeping 
flesh, went to bed afraid of the darkness, and wondering 
what kind of an existence this is anyhow into which he 
had been thrust without consent or connivance on his 
part. 

It is to be feared, also, that more than one boy who 
read and reflected upon the meaning of these stories made 
up his mind, in a desperate kind of way as he began to 
grow in years, to have all the fun within reach, at any 
rate, and to let the chances with respect to consequences 
just stand open. 

If the author of these books could have had the guid- 
ance of that best of all faculties named common-sense, 
but which indeed should be called uncommon-sense, he 
would have perceived the futility of the attempt to frighten 
children into Heaven; and the wrong to them and to 
the Master who loved them and would take them up in 


The Church Militant 49 

his arms and bless them, of trying by such means to 
impel them to embrace a faith whose very foundation- 
stones are love and joy and peace. 


The church-building contained a large audience when 
the carriage holding Dr. Mallow and Bunder Foot Singh 
stopped at the door opening into Dr. Frobisher’s study. 
Saul Tarsel was too busy with the bell-rope to offer his 
services at the carriage; but Dr. Frobisher had been look- 
ing for the guests, and quickly he emerged from the 
study and opening the door of the carriage, invited the 
two visitors to descend. 

When they had done so. Dr. Mallow presented the 
stranger to his fellow-clergyman, and the appearance and 
courtly grace of the Indian made an immediate favor- 
able impression upon Dr. Frobisher, as they always did 
upon those who met the prince for the first time. 

The impression was strengthened by the brief conver- 
sation that followed when the three men had passed into 
the study. Dr. Frobisher felt that the words of praise of 
the prince that had come to him from other clergymen 
had not been too strong. Manifestly, this was a choice 
man, and the doctor was gratified to believe that the 
highest expectations of the crowd of waiting and curious 
people in the pews were about to be fulfilled. 

He was a fine-looking fellow, and he presented a 
singularly handsome figure as, with the two clergymen, 
he walked out upon the pulpit platform and sat upon 
one of the three chairs placed there. 

He was tall, slender, well-proportioned, straight. Upon 
his head he wore a white turban which he did not remove, 
and his body was clothed in grey silk, with loose trousers 
and loose-fitting coat of Eastern pattern, while around 
his waist was a rich blue-silk sash, fastened at the side 
and with the fringed ends falling almost to the floor. 

The hue of his skin was brown, light brown, while his 
4 


JO Captain Bluitt 

hair and heavy mustache were jet black. So were his 
eyes, which seemed to have extraordinary brilliancy. 
Everybody thought his countenance full of manly beauty, 
and that it manifested singular intellectual power. 

He was completely self-possessed. He knew that 
hundreds of people were looking at him, but he seemed 
at ease, unconscious of the presence of the congregation, 
and indeed manifesting plainly that he was accustomed 
to prominence, to homage and to admiration. 

With reverence of demeanor and action he participated 
in the devotional exercises, and he listened with close 
attention when Dr. Mallow read the Scriptures and when 
the choir sang an anthem. The anthem was lovely and 
affecting, and Mrs. Frobisher thought he wiped away a 
tear as the music went on; but of this she was not posi- 
tively certain; for he passed his handkerchief over his 
face more than once during the exercises. 

When sermon-time came. Dr. Mallow rose and said 
that the congregation was about to be addressed by one 
of the trophies of missionary effort. Many converts had 
been made among the natives of India as the result of 
heroic, devoted, self-sacrificing endeavor upon the part 
of faithful men and women who had gone thither to carry 
to souls darkened by centuries of heathenism the blessed 
light of the everlasting Gospel. But now, in these last 
days, it had come to pass that the illuminating power of 
the Truth was no longer to enter the souls only of the 
poorest and the humblest. Adapted as it is to the needs 
of every human being, it had been found precious to a 
man who held a kingly place, whose ancestors for un- 
known centuries had sat upon thrones and wielded 
scepters and exercised power of life and death over liter- 
ally millions of people. 

His noble friend Bunder Foot Singh had become a 
Christian, at such loss to him of influence, affection and 
respect as no American could conceive, and having ac- 
cepted the Truth and turned his steps into the right way, 


The Church Militant 51 

he had found his longings going out, as was inevitable 
in the case of a converted man, to the forlorn and desolate 
and oppressed members of his own race. He had re- 
solved to devote himself to the work of uplifting the 
pariahs of India, people who were outcast and despised 
and in a condition of unspeakable moral, physical and 
religious degradation. To this work, the prince had 
consecrated the whole of his own vast fortune and now 
he had come to this Christian land to ask of the people 
who have the light of high civilization, the direct fruit 
of religion, to help him to carry the message of peace 
and hope to the people who sit in darkness and the 
shadow of death. 

Dr. Mallow concluded by relating what had been done 
for the good cause in his own church, and by expressing 
the hope that the church in Turley would do as well or 
better. Then he introduced Bunder Foot Singh. 

The prince, stepped to the front of the platform and 
in a soft, sweet, musical voice, he gave out his text: 

“Ask of me and I shall give thee the heathen for thine 
inheritance.’^ 

His enunciation was perfect — his lowest tone could be 
heard distinctly in the most distant part of the room. 
He spoke English without the smallest trace of accent. 
His language was felicitous in phrase, clearly interpretive 
of his meaning, and now and then it actually had a kind 
of poetic beauty. Nature made him an orator; more than 
phrase or vocal tone, there was a subtle charm of manner 
which touched the soul of the hearer and aroused emo- 
tion. Before the prince had spoken ten minutes all the 
women in the church were in tears, and Dr. Frobisher 
was seen to apply his handkerchief to his eyes several 
times in a suspicious manner. 

Bunder Foot Singh spoke for three quarters of an hour, 
and not one of his hearers would have been sorry if he 
had doubled the length of his discourse. 

When he sat down, the deacons began to take the 


1 


Captain Bluitt 

collection, and as they brought the filled plates to the 
platform there was visible proof of the fact that the prince 
had the kind of eloquence which can influence even the 
reluctant pocket-book. 

Dr. Frobisher then announced that the distinguished 
stranger would return to Turley in a few months, to 
remain for some time. The minister expressed the feel- 
ings of satisfaction with which he anticipated this longer 
visit from one to whom he and all the people there present 
owed one of the most noble, uplifting and helpful dis- 
courses to which they had ever listened. 

Then the doctor closed the services with prayer. 

Bunder Foot Singh and the clergymen remained upon 
the platform, and several prominent members of the 
church came forward to be presented to the stranger. 
Among them was John Hamilton, who clasped the 
prince’s hand, thanked him for his address and promised 
him a warm welcome when he should come to Turley 
again. 

If indeed coming events do cast their shadows before, 
how John Hamilton would have trembled at one such 
shadow if it had fallen athwart his path as he clasped 
that dusky hand! 

But he saw nothing, as men in such cases always see 
nothing, and so Hamilton returned to his wife and 
with her left the church full of high enthusiasm for the 
Hindoo. 

That was the common feeling. Mrs. Frobisher voiced 
it when she said to Mrs. Gridley: 

“Now we know what the words mean: 'speaking with 
the tongues of angels!’ Did you ever hear such exquisite 
oratory! So noble in bearing, too! You can see the 
prince in every lineament. Blood does tell, always, 
doesn’t it?” 

“But wasn’t it horrid to have that water-motor 
give out again, while he was here?” responded Mrs. 
Gridley, 


The Church Militant 

‘‘Perfectly horrid/^ said Mrs. Frobisher. “I was morti- 
fied beyond expression. I shall ask the Trustees to have 
the detestable thing removed from the cellar. What 
could the prince have thought of us?” 


The water-motor alone had marred the charm of an 
occasion which had in it all the elements of complete 
felicity; but, if Bunder Foot Singh had at all observed 
that something was wrong with the organ, during the 
second hymn, he had not manifested consciousness of the 
fact. The probability was that his acquaintance with 
machinery of that kind and its methods of operation was 
not familiar, and, besides, a man whose whole nature has 
been surrendered to the cause of uplifting a fallen race 
could not reasonably be expected to direct his attention 
even momentarily to the accidental dislocation of small 
mechanical appliances. 

The water-motor had really given no little trouble to 
the trustees. 

Judge Irwin McGann always attended service at Dr. 
Frobisher’s church on Sundays when he could find time 
for that purpose. It was believed that his desire was to 
be devout and to obtain profit from the preacher’s dis- 
courses; but more than once when he had been spoken 
to after church about the sermon, he answered in such a 
way as to convey the impression that his mind had been 
engaged with other matters while the doctor’s eloquence 
was pouring over him. And in truth, those who sat in 
the side-pews and could glance at Judge McGann while 
the preacher was speaking, usually noticed a far-away 
look in the judge’s face, as if his mental part were engaged 
in considering cog-wheels and pressures and centres of 
gravity rather than in obtaining nourishment from the 
sincere milk of the word. 

There seemed indeed to be some reason for believing 
that Judge McGann, while sitting in church, passed 


54 Captain Bluitt 

through all the mental processes which enabled him to 
invent his famous Water-Motor. 

It was always a kind of grief to the judge that the 
church should depend upon a boy for supplying motive- 
power to the organ. There seemed to be a waste of 
energy to employ a human being to perform a service 
which the judge felt sure might be better done by the 
pressure lying inert in the water-mains in the street right 
outside of the church-door. Besides, sometimes the boy 
played truant and then Uncle Tarsel was called upon to 
blow, which he did with feelings of indignation expressed 
in .sighs and groans plainly heard when the organist was 
using the softer stops. 

And even when the boy was at his post he was often 
drowsy. He was indeed the drowsiest boy in or near 
to Turley. He fell asleep so often that the Trustees, dis- 
liking to deprive his widowed mother of the income de- 
rived from his compensation as blower, arranged with 
her to have him sent to bed early on Friday and Saturday 
nights and to permit him to sleep late on Saturday and 
Sunday mornings so that he might, as it were, sleep up 
ahead with the result that mere satiated nature would 
keep him awake on Sundays; but the mother reported 
that the plan could hardly be made to work in a satis- 
factory manner, because the boy if sent to bed early 
always went to sleep later than if he had gone at the 
usual hour, and never failed to wake with the earliest 
dawn on Saturday and Sunday mornings. She was even 
so imprudent as to nint that the boy did the best that any 
boy could do while within the hearing of Dr. Frobisher’s 
long prayer. She said plainly that she could hardly keep 
awake herself, and the Trustees inclined to believe that 
there was an hereditary tendency to excessive sleepiness 
in her family. 

Judge McGann worked out his plan for a motor which 
should be actuated by pressure from the water-works, of 
which there was more than enough ; and he constructed a 


The Church Militant 


working model in wood that really did seem to contain 
a promise of high efficiency. The Board of Trustees 
agreed to bear the cost of construction, and the model 
with the working drawings was turned over to Davis 
Cook, the plumber, who acted as Librarian for the 
Sunday School. 

The motor, when it was finished and applied, worked 
very well at the first rehearsal, and did noble service 
during the opening voluntary and the first hymn, but 
right in the middle of the second hymn the organ stopped 
with a huge sob, and refused to go on. Thereupon Judge 
McCann and Davis Cook arose from their seats while the 
choir struggled along without instrumental accompani- 
ment and on tip toes the two men went to the cellar door 
and disappeared. In a few moments they returned and 
the judge walked softly up to the pulpit, where Dr. Fro- 
bisher was giving out notices, and explained that the 
pressure had been suddenly taken off from the pipe, 
probably by a locomotive filling its tender down at the 
railroad station. 

The organ did very well all the rest of the morning, 
but in the evening there was another collapse and as 
both Judge McCann and Davis Cook stayed at home that 
evening. Uncle Tarsel was called upon to go behind the 
scenes and to apply propulsion to the bellows’-handle. 

On the next Sunday morning the organ with another 
convulsive sob relapsed into silence at the beginning of 
the third verse of the second hymn, and the judge and 
Davis Cook rose and again vanished through the cellar 
door. They could be heard by the congregation scolding 
about the failure of the motor as they stood in the cellar. 
It was plain enough that Davis Cook was twisting off a 
nut with his monkey-wrench while the judge said, in an 
angry tone, half muffled: 

‘T told you not to put that valve in upside down.” 

And Davis Cook, making a very unseemly noise with 
the monkey-wrench, answered: 


^6 Captain Bluitt 

man who makes a working model of a thing that 
won’t work ain’t got good sense nohow.” 

In a few moments they came into church again, hot 
and breathless, and angry, and when Judge McGann 
resumed his seat it was with a vexed countenance, which 
soon began to smooth down as the absent look came into 
his eyes and he strove to think out an improved auxiliary- 
valve while Dr. Frobisher passed on into “thirdly.” 

The feeling began to grow among the Trustees that 
perhaps it might be better, out of consideration for the 
widow and the orphan who had been in a sense displaced 
by the machinery, to summon again to service that som- 
nolent boy; and this feeling, which was strengthened by 
the collapse of the motor during the singing of one of 
the hymns at the missionary meeting at which Bunder 
Foot Singh spoke, ripened into strong decisive purpose 
when, on the succeeding Saturday, as the choir gathered 
for rehearsal, it was found that the inlet pipe to the motor 
had been leaking since Sunday and the church cellar was 
navigable for boats not drawing more than four inches. 


CHAPTER V 


The Hero bears the Heroine Homeward 

I T was a wise man among the citizens of Turley who, 
in a year long past, persuaded the Town Council to 
use public money for the purchase of Graver’s Point, 
so that the people, for all time to come, might have 
a play-ground and a resting place prepared for those uses 
by Nature in such fashion as to surpass almost any pos- 
sible achievement by the hand of man. 

The Point was the end of a ridge which came down 
from the hills two miles and more away; a ridge having 
continually diminishing elevation until, crossing the Sand 
Beach that bordered the river, it thrust itself right out 
into the stream, a hundred yards beyond the low-water 
line, and then dropped off sharply, making a cliff, per- 
pendicular, smooth, not available for ascent or descent, 
and at the base with water deep enough to float a ship 
of any draught. 

It was a great natural pier projected boldly into the 
stream. A few yards back from the beach the public road 
surmounted and traversed the ridge; but, between the 
road and the cliff was a plateau not less than six hundred 
feet wide; and this was thick-planted with shrubs and 
evergreens and mighty deciduous trees, amid which 
gravel-walks turned and twisted, bordered with flowering 
plants. 

Here and there benches were placed for loiterers, and 
far out near to the end of the Point was a concourse and 
a small pavilion, while all about were benches and chairs 
whereon a Turley person might sit in the shade amid the 
sweet odors of the resinous bushes and look up the river, 

( 57 ) 


^8 Captain Bluitt 

down the river or across the river whilst the summer 
breeze, whether it blew from North or blew from South, 
brought with it coolness and refreshing. 

It was creditable to Turley, not wise usually when it 
dealt officially with matters of public enjoyment, that it 
should have obtained possession of this lovely place, and 
should have consented cheerfully to bear the cost of 
adorning it and maintaining it. 

The Point was near enough to the town to permit the 
authorities easily to care for it and to make it a secure 
and proper place for women and children to visit without 
other protection; and yet it was far enough away, and 
so shrouded and shut-in by the foliage of its vegetation, 
that there was seclusion in agreeable measure for those 
who wished for it. 

When the sun grew warm in the summer days all 
Turley that had time to spare came to the Point; and 
while the little children romped and played, and the wide- 
eyed babies stared from their coaches as they always do 
as if their minds were filled with unutterable astonish- 
ment at the wonderfulness of the wonderful world into 
which they had come; and while the boys went into swim 
from the bath-houses upon the beach below and filled 
the air with merriment, and the many women and the few, 
men strolled about or sat and talked in the later hours 
of the afternoon, sometimes the Turley Brass Band would 
enter the pavilion and with horn and drum^nd flageolet 
make music for the company. 

The Turley Brass Band always did its best. Perhaps 
this was not the best that was within the reach of any 
band the rolling earth around; the world is so big; 
but the Band, while affecting modesty, really believed 
that it was best; or, to make some kind of a concession, 
that no band played any better than the Turley Band 
played. 

As the Band, of a summer afternoon, came out to the 
Point and spread its sheets in the Pavilion, and began 


A Fortunate Accident ^9 

to toot and rumble and thump, the loiterers in the little 
Park, sitting there and looking out over the flowing river 
and breathing the soft, sweet air, gave welcome to the 
music and applause to the musicians, while they rejoiced 
that Turley had such a pleasure-ground, such a view 
upon the noble river, and such a chance to hear such a 
Band provide harmonies so noble. 


Two women, a matron and a maid, sat alone upon 
Graver’s Point in the shade of a spreading tree, near to 
the edge of the cliff, in the morning of Tuesday of the 
week which Walter Drury had begun by going to church 
in Turley. 

The matron was Mrs. Florabella Burns; her companion 
was Dorothea Hamilton. 

Two or three children played in the Park, back toward 
the highway, and two or three nurse-maids idly watched 
them and cared for infants sleeping in coaches. It was 
too early in the day for the throng to attend. 

The two women sat together upon one of the slatted 
benches looking out upon the sun-lit river whereon a 
ship with great masts and furled sails, and with a tug- 
boat leading her, moved slowly up the stream against the 
swift-rushing tide. 

Mrs. Burns had her fingers busily employed with some 
kind of knitting upon which now and then she dropped 
her eyes. Miss Hamilton held in one hand a closed book 
that she had thought to read, but she had not yet opened 
it. She liked better the talk with her agreeable com- 
panion, and so hand and book rested upon her lap, while 
she watched the craft upon the river. 

Mrs. Burns was fair to look upon, for what more 
charming creature is there than a woman who has 
reached the age of forty with her complexion unfaded, 
her face as smooth as if she were only twenty, her form 
rounded to the most beautiful of the lines of beauty, 


6o Captain Bluitt 

and her hair thick and clustering and untinged with 
grey? 

Mrs. Burns for ten years had been widowed, but grief 
had not ravaged her person. They said in her youth that 
she had golden hair; and now it had darkened into a 
richer hue of brown and red, and it surmounted a face 
of that peculiar pearly whiteness which is often found 
with such hair. Her eyes were dark and they made her 
complexion seem more beautiful by contrast. The shape 
of her head and face was good, the nose was small with 
the least upward turn at the end, and pretty red lips 
opened to disclose teeth unmarred by the dentist’s art. 

She was very fond of Dorothea Hamilton, who was odd 
enough to prefer the close friendship of this mature 
woman to that of girls of her own age, although she was 
not averse, either, to girls and girl frolics. 

Mrs. Burns had very sharp wits and well cultivated 
wits. She would have been good company for any sane 
and wise person; and she brought much to the life of the 
younger woman, whose experience had been narrow, but 
in whom Mrs. Burns perceived sweetness and loveliness 
of character that were not common in Turley — not 
common anywhere. 

They had fled away from the town on this warm 
summer morning to sit beneath the shade in the gentle 
wind that drifted over the Point, and to have a good quiet 
talk; and better still that satisfaction which such friends 
find in mere companionship apart from contact with other 
people. Not always in talk, but sometimes in silence and 
self-communing, does companionship find its keenest 
pleasure. 

“You were speaking, Dorry,” said Mrs. Burns, giving 
a pull upon her thread which tumbled the ball of thread 
to the ground, “of the Indian Prince who preached on 
Sunday. Do you know I didn’t half like that man?” 

“I heard you didn’t,” said Miss Hamilton. 

“Who told you?” asked Mrs. Burns. 


A Fortunate Accident 6i 

“Mrs. Frobisher said to Mother that she heard you 
didn’t fancy him. But what do you think she guessed 
was the reason?’' 

“What?” 

Miss Hamilton laughed. 

She said she thought it must be because you are an 
Episcopalian and disliked to have persons preach who 
are not in the apostolical succession!” 

Mrs. Burns smiled and said: 

‘How absurd! I don’t know myself precisely why I 
regarded him unfavorably. Certainly his appearance and 
manner and speech were fine. But there was a look in 
his eyes that seemed to me to be,— well, what shall I 
say? of a kind to excite distrust.” 

“Do you know that I felt in the same way?” said Miss 
Hamilton. 

“Well, then, I am right,” answered Mrs. Burns. 
Women often have a kind of intuition about such things 
which is better than reasoning or evidence. You are just 
the kind of a woman who would be likely to possess that 
faculty.” 

“All the other women in the church thought the man 
wonderful,” said Dorothea. “Mrs. Frobisher’s enthusiasm 
was unbounded.” 

“Yes, he is wonderful,” answered Mrs. Burns, “but 
that is not the point. Is he sincere? This is the im- 
portant question. Mrs. Frobisher is the sort of a woman 
who would not have the intuition I have referred to. She 
is too emotional, too intense, too likely to be attracted by 
outward appearances.” 

“Do you know, Dorry, that I saw the man looking 
at you with some fervor of admiration while you were 
singing that solo?” 

“No! I knew nothing of it. I should have been em- 
barrassed if I had observed it. Perhaps he is a musician 
himself.” 

“Quite likely; but he will wait a good while before 


62 Captain Bluitt 

he hears any music more lovely than that you gave to 

him." ^ _ 

“Don’t say that. I shall think you are making tun 

of me." 

“No, you sing as if your soul had mingled with your 
voice." 

“So it does, maybe," answered Dorothea, with a smile. 
“Music is more to me than mere sound." 

“How do you mean?" 

“I am sure I cannot explain myself clearly; but you 
know, after all, what we call the voice, in singing,^ is not 
simply the operation of air upon the vocal cords." 

“No." 

“The cords are an instrument operated by something; 
by what? Why, of course, by the spiritual nature, the 
soul, or whatever we may call it, of the singer. Far more 
truly than when we speak does the soul manifest itself in 
singing; I mean the right kind of singing. The soul 
sings, doesn’t it, when the performer feels deep emotion 
in directing the voice?" 

“Yours does, anyhow, I should think," responded Mrs. 
Burns. 

Dorothea did not answer, for a moment. Her cheek 
flushed, and her eyes looked out over the wide waters 
beneath and beyond. Eyes of bluish grey, clear, bright, 
penetrating. When she looked straight at you, those 
eyes seemed to have a peculiar force as if they saw far 
into the recesses of the spirit. The girl had no self- 
consciousness; there was perfect artlessness, conveying 
the impression of immeasurable purity. Indeed, was it 
not, as Florabella Burns had often said as she observed 
Dorothea’s apparently complete unconsciousness of her 
physical beauty and of her vocal gifts, that the soul was 
pure; pure with that kind of purity which one day will 
permit vision of the Almighty? To have known such a 
woman is a high form of religious experience. Blessed 
is the man who can call such a woman wife! 


A Fortunate Accident 

“There is something about music/’ said Dorothea, 
speaking again, “that is mysterious and inexplicable to 
me. You say it is air-vibration, and so it is. But what 
amazing power it sometimes has to touch the feelings? 
not the nerves, not any part of the physical sensibilities* 
but that part which is moved, for instance, when one 
engages in earnest prayer.” 

“What is the quality, do you think?” 

“I have often wondered. Back of the science of music 
as it is composed and written, back of the physical action, 
back of everything heard or seen is a quality which 
appears to me to belong to the other world— to some 
world that is near to us, but hidden from us. You re- 
member what the Bible says about the singing of the 
morning stars and what Shakespeare also says of the 
singing orbs. Maybe they do indeed sing; but that is 
physical, if it is a fact. I would rather hear a human soul 
sing; that is to me a vibration from heaven.” 

“What a curious thing it is, too,” continued the girl, 
“that the minor keys should always be sad! How can 
anybody account for that strange fact? The very same 
notes that are in the minor keys are in the major keys, 
but, because they follow in a changed order, one is joyous 
and the other often melancholy enough to make you cry.” 

“Did you ever associate colors with the keys?” asked 
Mrs. Burns. 

Dorothea turned to her and with an eager look upon 
her face exclaimed: 

“Have you noticed that too?” 

“Why yes,” answered Mrs. Burns. “I never gave the 
subject much thought, but the key of F major always 
seems to me to have a light blue color.” 

“How delightful!” answered Dorothea, smiling. “I 
thought that was my own private, personal discovery.” 

“And the key of G major never fails to suggest yellow.” 

“Yes; with me, F major is light blue, and the shade 
of the blue deepens as the flats increase until you get 


64 


Captain Bluitt 

down to D flat major and that is dark purple. How 
sombre and melancholy that key is! G major is yellow, 
and the color deepens with the added sharps until E 
major is da^ orange and F sharp major is almost a deep 
crimson. All the minor keys are pale cold greys of 
various shades. Isn’t it wonderful? Doesn’t it show that 
music has hidden in it things that connect it strangely 
with other apparently different things?” 

“It is strange,” said Mrs. Burns, “that both of us 
should have had similar impressions of the matter, but 
after all, I am not sure that there is anything but a 
physical phenomenon. Music represents vibrations which 
reach our brains through our ears. Color represents 
vibrations which reach our brains through our eyes. It 
does not seem unreasonable that Nature should produce 
similar impressions by means of different kinds of vibra- 
tions, does it?” 

“Perhaps not; but there are other particulars about 
music which no physical reasons can explain. It is the 
only science I know of that seems to have relations with 
spiritual things. wonder it has been the belief always 
that the angels sing.” 

“The notion that the keys indicate colors is not new, 
I think,” said Mrs. Burns. “I have a friend who knows 
a Scotch musician who thinks he has found the original 
elements of the Scotch plaids in popular Scottish melo- 
dies.” 

“That’s a queer idea, isn’t it?” 

“I don’t remember the whole of his theory; but he is 
convinced, for example, that the colors and even the 
design of the British flag are imbedded somehow in “God 
Save the Queen,” and that only red and white and blue 
tones are to be found in the “Star Spangled Banner.” 

As Mrs. Burns spoke, Dorothea turned her head to 
look out upon the river. She might have intended to 
respond to her companion, but before she could do so, 
she sprang up in excitement and exclaimed: 


6 ? 


A Fortunate Accident 

''Look at that child!” 

One of the smallest of the little girls who had been 
running about the pavilion, had wandered to the very 
edge of the cliff and sitting down, had extended her feet 
beyond the frail bordering of sod that surmounted the 
rock. It had long been thought by careful f)ersons that 
the Turley government should have put a railing at this 
place; but the duty had been neglected. 

The child was in a most perilous position. A slight 
movement of its body, the smallest crumbling of ethe 
earth, would have tumbled it down the rock into the deep 
water below. 

Dorothea Hamilton ran forward with flushed cheeks 
and eager steps, and approached the little girl, who 
turned her head and actually began to slip over the brink 
of the precipice as Dorothea, flinging herself flat upon 
the ground grasped the child’s dress and held her. Even 
then, had not the hold been firm and the dress-stuff stout, 
the child would have been lost. 

But Dorothea did not relax her grasp, and in a moment 
Mrs. Burns, the girl’s nurse and two or three other 
women were at hand, and the child was drawn back to 
safety. 

“Well done, Dorry!” said Mrs. Burns. “Well done! 
You are a heroine. You have saved that child’s life!” 
And Mrs. Burns held out her hand that she might help 
her friend to rise. 

Dorothea made an effort to get up, but found she 
could not do so. 

“I must have sprained my ankle,” she said. “It pains 
me dreadfully.” 

Calling another woman to her assistance, Mrs. Burns 
and the newcomer lifted Dorothea and almost carried her 
to the bench whereon she and Mrs. Burns had been 
sitting. 

“It seems to me my ankle-joint must really be dislo- 
cated,” said the sufferer as she sat down. 

5 


66 Captain Bluitt 

Mrs. Burns removed the shoe and stocking from the 

hurt foot. . 

“I think it is only a sprain,” she said. I will tie my 

handkerchief about it.” 

“But how am I to get home?” asked Dorothea, i 

cannot walk a step.” . 

“We shall have to send to town for a carriage, ot 
course; unless I can find some one we know driving along 

the road.” „ . , 

see a wagon coming from town now, JVLa am, saici 
one of the nurses. “Maybe we could get it to take Miss 
Hamilton.” 

Mrs. Burns walked out towards the highway and in a 
moment found that the vehicle was a buggy in which sat 
the familiar and welcome figure of Dr. Quelch. 

She signaled to him to stop, and as the Doctor drove 
up beside her at the edge of the rock, she said: 

‘^O Doctor Quelch, but I am glad to see you I” 

“What is the matter?” 

“Dorry Hamilton has sprained her ankle so that she is 
unable to walk. Won^t you look at it, and then then - 
maybe you will help us to carry her home.” 

“Let us see about it,” said the physician, getting down 
from his carriage and tying his horse to a tree. 

“Dorry,” said Mrs. Burns, as the doctor came up with 
her, “here is Dr. Quelch, who has turned up exactly at 
the right moment, just as people who are wanted always 
do in the story-books.” 

Dorry laughed and said: 

“There is nobody I would rather see just now.” 

“It is a sprain,” said the doctor, as he examined it. 
“Not so bad as it might be, but you must not put your 
foot upon the ground for at least a week. I will bind it 
up in a better way.” 

The physician went to his carriage and returned with 
a bandage and some liquid material, Wetting the ankle 


A Fortunate Accident 67 

thoroughly, he bound it tightly and then, as Mrs. Burns 
put on the sufferer’s stocking. Dr. Quelch said: 

^‘And now the problem is to take her home. I can 
put you in my buggy, but I have a pressing call a mile 
or two down the road, and I really wish you would wait 
until I come back. But, no! I sha’n’t lose many minutes 
going to your house and back. I’ll take you.” 

'‘How shall she get to the carriage?” asked Mrs. Burns. 

Dr. Quelch felt his chin with one hand, as he always 
did when he had a problem to solve. Then he said: 

"Well, I suppose I could drive right in here, but it is 
against the rules and I don’t like to break good rules 
unless there is no other way. Can’t we manage to carry 
her?” he asked Mrs. Burns. 

Dorothea protested that the burden would be much 
too heavy for anybody; but Dr. Quelch thought that he 
could manage it if one of the nurses would help, and so, 
putting his hands into those of the nurse, the patient 
seated herself upon them and quickly and safely reached 
the road. 

The doctor turned the buggy partly around so that 
entrance to it would be easier and then he brought one 
of the benches from a nearby path, so that Dorothea 
could be lifted upon it half way to the floor of the car- 
riage upon which she could then contrive to step. 

"Wait a moment,” said the Doctor. "Here is another 
carriage coming up the road and bound for Turley. 
Maybe we can arrange for it to take you while I push on 
to help my patient, who urgently needs me.” 

The carriage came nearer. 

"There is but one person in it. A young man too. 
Here again as in the story-books,” he said smiling, "is 
the brave knight coming to rescue the fair lady.” 

The stranger reached the place where the party stood 
and looked curiously at the group. 

"Young man, are you going right on to Turley?” asked 
Dr. Quelch. 


68 


Captain Bluitt 

*‘Yes, sir/’ responded the occupant of the buggy. 

“You are not a Turley man, I think?” suggested Dr. 
Quelch. 

“No,” said the youth, who was looking rather eagerly 
at Miss Hamilton, “but I half belong there. I am Captain 
Bluitt’s nephew, Walter Drury.” 

“Good!” exclaimed the physician. “You are lucky,” 
he said to Dorothea. “And you are lucky too, young 
man! Here is a friend of mine who has turned her ankle 
so that she cannot walk. I was about to take her home, 
but I must neglect an important case to do so. Will you 
take her?” 

“With the greatest pleasure,” said Walter, leaping from 
the buggy. He had recognized her. His heart was filled 
with joy because of the chance that had brought him 
there. Suppose he had come sooner or later or had 
returned by the back road? 

“This is Miss Dorothea Hamilton, Walter, and this is 
Mrs. Burns,” said the doctor. “I know your uncle well.” 

Walter greeted the women with his finest courtesy. 

Then Dr. Quelch brought the bench to the wheel of 
Drury’s carriage and while Walter held the horse’s head, 
the doctor and Mrs. Burns and the nurse succeeded in 
placing the injured girl in the vehicle. 

“If you will drive home slowly, I will walk with you,” 
said Mrs. Burns. 

“No, no, not” exclaimed Walter. “You get into the 
buggy and I will walk and hold the reins and drive.” 

“You can’t do that,” said Mrs. Burns. 

“Why not?” asked Walter. 

“The road is dreadfully muddy too,” said Dorothea’s 
companion. 

“Not more muddy for me than for you,” responded 
Walter. “No, if you won’t ride, why then both of us will 
walk.” 

Mrs. Burns stepped into the buggy, 

“Mr. Drury,” she said, “yo^ ^ second Sir Walter 


A Fortunate Accident 69 

Raleigh. You remember how he disdained mud when 
ladies were in question?’' 

Walter laughed, and said: 

*‘l am delighted to have an opportunity to serve you.” 

Dr. Quelch bade farewell to the three and his horse 
trotted off down the highway. 

'‘Are you ready?” asked Walter. 

''Yes, thank you very much,” responded Dorothea. 
"You are so kind.” 

It was the first word she had spoken. He had heard 
that voice before. He recognized it at once. In his soul 
he was a little bit envious of Mrs. Burns. He wished she 
could have walked. Imagine him in the carriage actually 
by the side of this woman who for three days had almost 
driven every other subject from his mind! 

The horse started off at a walk. Walter felt that for 
once the animal could hardly go slowly enough to please 
him. The driver kept close to the carriage, indifferent 
to puddles and to mud. Mrs. Burns talked with him at 
intervals, but Dorry did not speak again. 

Two or three times when Walter turned his head to 
hearken to Mrs. Burns or to answer her, or in pretense 
that the buggy must be watched as well as the horse, he 
saw Dorry’s eyes fastened upon him. She dropped her 
eyelids when he looked at her, but really she did not seem 
conscious that her gaze had been fixed upon him. She 
appeared like one who is in a deep revery. He thought 
he had never seen such wonderful eyes or so sweet a face. 
He could not tell if he were really in her thoughts, or if 
she were thinking of the pain of her hurt foot, or if she 
were merely diffident with a stranger. But he was con- 
scious of swelling joy in his soul which would pour out 
in a flood when he should be alone and without restraint. 
Now, he must think of the horse, he must consider 
decorum, he must not manifest a trace of feeling, he 
must hide everything and pretend that he was just a dull 
fellow, plodding along in the mud for courtesy’s sake 


70 Captain Bluitt 

The joy would have been transformed to rapture could 
he have perceived that the girl knew him as the youth 
she had seen in church, whom she had looked at from 
the balcony and peered at from behind the curtains on 
Sunday afternoon, and that, as she looked at him and 
thought of him, into her soul also came that strange feel- 
ing that, somehow, he belonged to her. 

She did not consciously realize that she had this feel- 
ing. The consciousness came to her in the loneliness of 
her chamber when she had reached home. But now, at 
this very moment, as she saw the brave figure of the man 
in the roadway, and now and then watched his bright 
handsome face upturned towards her s, she did have some 
vague notion, amid the rush of new and bewildering 
sensations that perturbed her spirit, that the youth’s 
destiny might be bound up with hers. 

She had no impulse to speak. She almost feared to 
trust the strange impressions that were thrust upon her; 
she felt that if she should open her lips, even to utter 
some commonplace, she might betray herself. 

The carriage reached the town and stopped before Mr. 
Hamilton’s door. 

“How did you know the house?” asked Mrs. Burns. 

Walter colored, as he answered: 

“The name is upon the door.” 

But Dorothea guessed that the youth had had his 
attention strongly directed to the house on Sunday, and 
the thought was not displeasing to her. 

Helping Mrs. Burns to dismount, Walter tied the horse 
to the hitching-post, and was about to ring the Hamilton 
door-bell, when John Hamilton came up. He had left 
the bank and returned home to luncheon. 

Nodding to Walter, he asked Mrs. Burns: 

“What is the matter?” 

Mrs. Burns related the facts about the accident to 
Dorry, and added: 

“And this young gentleman was so good as to put us 


A Fortunate Accident 71 

both in his buggy and to walk by the side of it as he 
drove us home/' 

Mrs. Burns very plainly thought him a very nice young 
gentleman indeed, and there was some room for suspicion 
that, if Mrs. Burns had been a very nice young woman, 
rather than a very nice woman of middle age, she would 
not have been averse to further and much closer acquaint- 
ance with Walter. 

‘‘Thank you," said Hamilton to Drury. “I am much 
indebted to you." 

“Mr. Drury," said Mrs. Burns, “is Captain Bluitt’s 
nephew." 

“Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Hamilton, looking as if he did 
not feel very much interest in the fact. “My compliments 
to Captain Bluitt. You have been very kind." 

In the effort to help Miss Hamilton to descend from 
the carriage, Walter stood upon one side of the step, and 
her father upon the other. 

“I will carry you into the house, my dear," said Hamil- 
ton, “if you can manage to put your well foot on the step 
of the buggy." 

Both men extended their hands, but as the hurt foot 
was upon the side towards Walter, the girl's weight fell 
chiefly upon him when her arm below the elbow rested 
on his hands, and he fairly lifted her while her foot sought 
the step hidden by her skirt. 

As that fair burden weighed upon him, Walter thought 
himself nearer to perfect bliss than he had ever before 
been able to come. Really perfect bliss would have been 
reached if he could have had the privilege of carrying 
her across the sidewalk to the house. 

As she touched the carriage-step, and just before she 
withdrew her arm from Walter’s hand, she said to him, 
with the very sweetest smile he had ever seen and the 
loveliest soft voice he had ever heard: 

“And I thank you so much! You have been so kind! 
It will give me pleasure to have you call at our home." 


72 


Captain Bluitt 

As her father carried her into the house, followed by 
Mrs. Burns, who had bidden farewell to Walter, John 
Hamilton said to his daughter, with an air of slight 
vexation : 

“It was hardly worth while, Dorry, I think, to propose 
to cultivate the boy’s acquaintance.” 


CHAPTER VI 
Face to Face 

T here were two happy, troubled people in Turley 
on the afternoon of the day that Walter brought 
Dorothea home. 

Dorothea, cared for by her mother and by 
Mrs. Burns until all the kindly offices were done, sat in 
the easy chair in her room, glad to have the door shut 
and to be alone with the unfamiliar thoughts which 
thronged upon her mind. 

How 'queer it was that, among all the strangers in the 
church on Sunday, she had been attracted by this man’s 
appearance! He had not impressed her then, but some- 
thing had impressed her when on Sunday afternoon he 
drove slowly past the house and looked at it. How 
eagerly he had looked at it! She remembered that now. 
Perhaps she had attracted him. But, no, that seemed 
unlikely. And then, how strange it was that this youth, 
of all other possible passers-by, should have reached 
Graver’s Point with a vacant seat in his carriage, and 
at the very instant when she needed such help. She 
laughed a little bit at Dr. Quelch’s reference to the way 
things happen in story-books. Then she grew sober as 
she thought how often in real life within her own small 
experience things more strange than fiction had been 
observed; and in the sanctuary of her spirit, where wor- 
ship was a familiar practice, she confessed that there is 
a loving Power who has ways mysterious and wonderful 
in dealing with, his children. 

As if she were almost afraid to permit herself in her 
very inner self to consider the thought, she did for a 

(73) 


74 


Captain Bluitt 

moment of pure happiness reflect that it might be the 
purpose of Him who guided her steps with tender care to 
bring this man’s life somehow within the scope of her 
life so that they might march together, hand in hand, 
upon the journey that lay before them. 

She put the thought away, for it seemed almost un- 
womanly that she should thus consider one of whom she 
knew so little and who might not think of her again. 
And then, it was absurd, too ; and perhaps it might bring 
sorrow. How dreadful that any girl should permit her 
feelings so to overmaster her that she should care for 
one who is careless of her! 

‘'Yes, but he will think of me again,” she said, for she 
could not compel her thoughts to run in another channel, 
as she wished. She could not have given any reasons 
which would have looked reasonable, or proofs that 
would have proved; but she felt sure that the youth had 
not been indifferent when he saw her in church and when 
he looked at the house. 

And, by the way, did he not betray himself when, this 
very morning he drove directly to the house? He had 
learned that lesson well on Sunday; but why should he 
have cared to learn it, but for her sake? 

Plainly Mrs. Burns had admired him, as he tramped 
along there, the fine handsome fellow, in the mud for 
their sakes. She felt glad she was not so old as Mrs. 
Burns and that Mrs. Burns was not so young as 
Dorry Plamilton, for then there might be reason for 
doubting. 

But, indeed had he not smiled a good deal at the older 
woman, and talked more to her than to her companion? 
And had not many women of middle-age married young 
men? She had a small pang of jealousy. Then she 
laughed again, and resolved to dismiss the whole subject. 
She would divert her mind with the book she had been 
reading yesterday. 

It was deeply interesting then. She reached for it and 


opened it where the leaf was turned, and fell back in her 
chair for a good read. 

But, fix her eyes on the page as she would, her mind 
would not remain there. The lines seemed dull and life- 
less. Before she could fairly try to grasp the meaning of 
a paragraph her thought had fled away to Graver’s 
Point, to the journey along the muddy road, to the halt 
before their door ; and always the figure of a manly fellow 
named Walter Drury was in the picture. 

She remembered in what manner her arm had touched 
his as he helped her from the carriage. The pain of the 
twisted ankle vanished at just that moment. She won- 
dered if he had cared for that single moment’s experience? 
Of course not! It was a mere ordinary incident. How 
foolish for her to think about it! Foolish, yes! But she 
liked to continue to think about it. 

She felt certain he would call to ask about her. Mere 
common politeness required so much. Perhaps he would 
call this evening. Her heart beat more quickly as this 
occurred to her mind. She was sure she could easily go 
down stairs with a little bit of help. How foolish it would 
be to stay in her room perhaps for a week, for such a 
slight hurt! She would insist upon going down for 
dinner and this would divert suspicion. Once down 
stairs, it would be unreasonable to think of going up 
until bed-time. 

Which dress should she wear? Lucky Frobisher had 
always admired that white muslin gown. She thought, 
however, that his opinion was not very important. But 
her father also admired it and said it became her well. 
The evidence seemed to show that it might meet the 
requirements of masculine taste. She would wear it; 
and a flower upon her breast and another in her hair. 

She stood up on one foot and held the arm of the chair 
while she looked at herself in the mirror. “It seems to 
me I have been pale lately,” she. said as she sank back 
upon the cushions. “A ribbon in my hair might be better 


76 


Captain Bluitt 

than a flower. No, a flower will be better. Father said 
he liked it, and he is a man.’’ 

And so the hours went by swiftly as the young girl, 
forgetting her physical pain, careless of all the things 
and the thoughts that, only this time yesterday, seemed 
so full of interest, suffused her soul with these emotions 
that had come to her so unexpectedly, bringing with them 
strange and wonderful and tremulous delight. 

It is safe to say (but Dorry Hamilton would not have 
liked to admit it to herself) that Dorry Hamilton was 
in love. 

And Walter Drury? 

When Walter Drury seated himself in the buggy and 
drove down the street towards his uncle’s stable, he was 
in a condition of mental intoxication. He felt as if he 
could hardly restrain himself from shouting. His feel- 
ings had been in severe repression ever since he started 
from Graver’s Point with the precious load in his car- 
riage, and now he would have liked to go off somewhere 
by himself and caper and roll and sing. He was so much 
engrossed with his happiness that he drove past the stable 
without seeing it and he might have driven into the river 
had not Rufus Potter hailed him from Captain Bluitt’s 
garden and asked him where he was going. 

He turned the horse about, drove into the stable and 
giving Rufus a silver coin (he felt very much like em- 
bracing Rufus and whirling him around the carriage-shed 
two or three times) he entered the house, and locking 
himself in his bedroom, .permitted himself to give, in a 
subdued manner, expression to his feelings. 

‘^Did any man,” he asked, ‘^ever have such amazing 
luck?” On Sunday his case looked hopeless, almost ab- 
solutely hopeless! And here he was on Tuesday doing 
her a service, getting to know her, actually bringing her 
home and helping her to dismount from the carriage and 
getting an invitation to visit her! Why, if he had 


Face to Face 77 

arranged it all himself things couldn’t have worked out 
better. 

Visit her? Yes indeed! He wouldn’t leave this town 
until he had visited her. “I’ll step in to-night, I think,” 
he said. “It would be simply decent to do that. Her 
father seemed somewhat sour, and he may be disagree- 
able, but fathers are always that way with hovering young 
men. It is traditional. But it is the girl who counts ; and 
that angelic girl seemed to like me; she asked me to call 
as if she really wanted me to call, and call I will, father 
or no father!” 

Walter thought he would lie down for a while before 
luncheon. But he found that repose did not suit his 
mood. He arose and walked in the garden. After 
luncheon, he wandered by the river-bank. He had a 
notion to walk up the street and to pass the Hamilton 
house; but that seemed to him perhaps inadvisable. He 
went down to the river-shore and pushed the boat into 
the stream and rowed for a little distance. Tiring of that, 
he came ashore and went to the stable and had a talk 
with Rufus Potter. 

Rufus not proving to be a profitable companion for a 
youth in this particular frame of mind, Walter came back 
into the house and began to prepare his clothing for the 
call in the evening. All that could be done in this par- 
ticular matter was quickly done, and then Walter sat 
down to think what he should do next. Six or seven 
hours before he could decently make that call! Hours 
are very long sometimes. 

Uncle Bluitt was to drive over to Donovan; but Walter 
did not care to go. He had just come from Donovan, 
and though his uncle usually was good company, and 
likely to be amusing, the young man felt that he really 
did not care for Roman reminiscences at just this 
juncture; and besides, he found no company quite so 
good as his own thoughts; that is to say, no available 
company. 


78 Captain Bluitt 

Upon the whole, there could really be no harm in 
walking up the street past the house. He could walk 
fast, so as to appear to have some important errand, and 
he need not look at the house more than to glance at it. 
Nobody could tell that he had no errand at the other end 
of the town, and he needed exercise after sitting so long 
in the buggy and in the house. 

So he turned into the street and proceeded at a rather 
brisk pace — not quite so brisk a pace as he had intended, 
toward the Hamilton house, and when he reached it the 
first glance told him that he might look at it as much as 
he wished, for all the blinds were down and nobody ap- 
peared upon the side-porch or in the garden. 

He pushed onward with an exultant feeling that he 
would enter that house to-night, and before his thoughts 
returned to mere common things he found himself in 
front of the Presbyteriait Church. The door was open 
and he went in, having nothing better to do. He felt as 
if he should like to go up into the choir and sit in the 
chair in which his fair singer had sat on Sunday. 

As he came into the vestibule, he met Uncle Tarsel 
coming down from the tower. 

The old man greeted him courteously, having pleasant 
remembrances of his generosity upon the occasion of his 
former visit. 

^'Looking after the bell, were you?’^ asked Walter, as 
the old man greeted him. 

^‘No, suh, no! not ezzackly. No, suh; de bell hit^s all 
right. No, jes a cleanin’ up an’ lookin’ after things an’ 
mebbe watchin’ dem owls.” 

'‘Owls!” said Walter, “what owls?” 

“Dem owls in de steeple, suh. T’ree ob dem. Dey 
rooses up yander, an’ dey’s quite sociable. I sorter feels 
’s if I’se some kin to dem.” 

“To the owls!” exclaimed Walter. 

“Yes, suh! Dey’s bin free sex’ons in dish yer chu’ch 
an’ dere’s free owls in dat steeple. Ef dey was jes owls 


79 


Face to Face 


dere’d be fo’ owls er two owls; er ef dere was daddy an’ 
mammy owl an’ baby owl one’d be liddle; but dere’s free 
ol’ owls an’ dey’s all brown lek a nigger an’ dey doan 
go to no ’Piscopal steeple or Baptis’ steeple, but stick 
^ right yer in de ol’ place* whar dey feels at home.” 

“An’ dey set an’ look at me when I go up dere an’ 
blink an’ blink wid dere big eyes much’s to say ‘Ol’ 
Tarseb^some day you’ll quit a-ringin’ dat big bell, lek we 
did, an’ de fedders’ll sprout an’ you’ll come an’ roos’ up 
yer ’long wid us an’ blink at some odder colored man.’ ” 
Dey go out a-huntin’ in de night jes lek de nigger 
go fur ’coons, same affer as befo’ def; an’ dere dey is 
ebery mawnin when chu’ch hoi’s, wukkin dere necks an’ 
lookin’ lek dey want to be shuttin’ de windows an’ pokin’ 
de fu’nace an’ scrimmagin’ aroun’ to make de Sunn’y 
School boys behave.” 

“I dunno how dis jines wid de notion o’ Hebben. 
Mebbe dey’s in de hebben part o’ de time an’ back yer 
part. Mebbe dey’s bein’ punished fer pickin’ money 
outen de ahms-box en de westendbule er fur hookin’ 
Cap’n Bluitt’s chickens. I dunno. Dey has angel’s 
wings, anyways.” 

“I do know dis: When I’se called I’d lek to ’range to 
come back yer oncet a year er so an’ see de ol’ place an’ 
lissen to de pasture ’spoundin’ de tex,’ an’ yer de ol’ bell 
a-tollin’; but fur de mos’ part I wants to stay in de glory- 
lan’ an’ not come a-roosin’ up yander en de dark, a- 
moanin’ an’ a-hootin’ wid dem free odder niggers. No, 
suh!” 

Walter laughed at the negro’s story, and after walking 
about the church for a little space and trying the seat in 
the choir, he strolled out again, down the street past the 
Hamilton house, which still made no sign to him, and 
then home to wait with what patience he could for dinner 
and the visiting hour. 

After all, the slowest hours do pass by and when they 
are gone they really seem to have had some celerity of 


8o 


, Captain Bluitt 

motion. And so the hour did strike when Walter thought 
he might call to ask about Miss Hamilton. 

The night was dark and the street-lamps were not 
lustrous, but he knew the way and in a few moments he 
found himself upon John Hamilton’s steps, with his hand 
on the bell-pull, and a feeling in his throat that appeared' 
to require that he should exercise rather positive self- 
control if his first utterance should not be marred by 
huskiness of his voice. 

Miss Hamilton was in, and as the door closed behind 
him and he placed his hat upon the rack he could observe 
that several persons were in the parlor. Mr. Hamilton 
was there reading a newspaper and on the other side of 
the table sat Mrs. Hamilton, sewing. Mrs. Burns was 
talking with her and over on the sofa sat Miss Hamilton, 
while near to her was a young man whom Walter, with 
a quick flash of jealousy, perceived to be the organist. 

Mr. Hamilton rose and greeted the visitor politely but 
coldly. He introduced Walter to his wife, who was very 
gracious. Walter liked her at once. She resembled her 
daughter. Miss Hamilton smiled most sweetly as she 
welcomed him and then she introduced him to her other 
visitor. 

“This, Mr. Drury, is Mr. Frobisher, the son of our 
pastor.” 

While Mrs. Burns with manifest pleasure repeated to 
Mrs. Hamilton the story of Walter’s walk by the buggy- 
side, and Mrs. Hamilton repeatedly said, “It was most 
kind,” young Mr. Frobisher looked as if he really thought 
it was no such very great matter after all. 

Mr. Frobisher was quite a fine young gentleman, upon 
the whole. If his intellectual qualities were not so very 
remarkable, they were quite equal to the merely ordinary 
demands of life and his address and bearing were good. 
Being closely related to the Metcalfs of Aramingo, it was 
hardly possible that young Frobisher should not have 
almost if not quite all the qualities of a gentleman. There 


8i 


Face to Face 


was, in his bearing, perhaps, just a trace of that super- 
ciliousness not much, a mere suggestion — which ap- 
peared in the demeanor of some of the Metcalfs; but 
young Mr. Frobisher was far too wise to offer any ex- 
amples of this quality in the conditions in which he was 
now placed. 

In truth, he strongly admired Dorry Hamilton, and 
would have made up his mind definitely to bring her 
into the charmed circle of the Metcalfs but for two facts 
to which he could not be completely indifferent. One 
was that he had no other income than that from his posi- 
tion as organist, and this necessarily was small, with no 
comforting prospects of enlargement. The other, and 
far less formidable fact, was that his mother had not been 
able fully to reconcile herself to the union of the descend- 
ant of a proud and aristocratic race with the daughter of 
a bank-cashier who had only a salary and nothing to 
leave to his children. 

^ Thus, under the restraints of prudent financial con- 
siderations and of an ambitious and far-sighted parent, 
young Frobisher had not permitted his warm feelings for 
Miss Hamilton to be blown into a flame; but he was 
keenly alive to the very great probability that some other 
youth more fortunately conditioned might not only 
kindle a fire in his own bosom, as he saw the lovely girl, 
but might start up something like a conflagration in hers. 

Walter tried to give the impression to the company, 
chiefly for papa’s sake, that he had just dropped in as he 
was passing by to inquire about the invalid, as he might 
have done had she been a homely lady of fifty-five; but 
Florabella Burns had a quick eye in such matters, and 
Florabella Burns knew he wanted to stay and made up 
her mind that he should stay. 

As the conversation proceeded, Mrs. Burns moved over 
to the sofa and began some talk in which she involved 
Dorothea and Walter, and then she permitted them to 
talk together with small interruption from her. 

6 


82 


Captain Bluitt 

Walter was at his best, and the girl thought it was the 
very best she had ever known. 

Florabella Burns had some little thrills herself as she 
perceived in what manner these two creatures, in this 
their first real contact, glowed with the intensity of the 
sympathy kindled in their souls. 

As they talked about the various subjects that thrust 
themselves forward to be talked about, and as all the girl’s 
sweetness showed itself in the tenderness of her voice, the 
warmer color in her face, and the bright utterances of a 
refined intellect stimulated by the best of all emotions, 
Florabella almost wished herself young again. And as 
Walter was inspired to put fervor into his speech, and to 
shape it to high things and to make it express his best 
impulses, Florabella thought of the day far gone when 
a young man had responded in such fashion to the pas- 
sion in her soul, and she felt as if a sigh would best 
express her present feelings. 

Dorothea’s cup of joy seemed to her, as she sat there 
listening and responding, to be almost full. Not quite 
full. If Mrs. Burns would talk to mamma while Lucky 
Frobisher wrestled with papa about the gold question; 
or, better still, if papa and mamma and Florabella and 
Lucky could drift off somewhere by themselves, there 
would be greater joyousness. No wonder she admired 
Walter when she first met him, that morning. She now 
perceived that he was far above her highest expectations 
of his character and mental gifts. But she was conscious 
of something more than this. The strange impression 
that had come upon her mind before, that he belonged to 
her, was now deepened. There seemed to be something 
like certainty. She could no longer doubt that this youth 
was drawn to her. She saw it behind his bright eyes, 
she heard it behind the tones of his voice, it was evident 
in his whole manner to her. 

She knew that her rapture would express itself, as soon 
as she had gone to her own room, in a good cry. She 


8? 


Face to Face 

had never before been so happy that she wished to weep, 
but she was sure she could not in any other manner re- 
lieve the stress upon her feelings. 

Suddenly^ the thought came to Walter that he had 
made his visit much longer than he had intended. He 
disliked to go, but his judgment overmastered his incli- 
nation. He rose from his chair and began to express his 
intention, when Mrs. Burns said: 

“Mr. Drury if you could conveniently remain for a 
little longer time I should regard it as a great favor to 
have you escort me to my home. It is not far away, but 
the streets are very dark.” 

Walter resumed his seat as he politely accepted Mrs. 
Burns’s invitation. Thus early in the campaign he had 
acquired a half-conviction that Florabella’s function in 
life had in it something akin to that of a Guardian Angel, 
and that she was performing the function in a remarkably 
effective manner. She seemed always to be scattering 
blessings. 

Dorothea was not sorry to have him stay, but she felt 
for a moment a return of that slight feeling of jealous 
suspicion she had had in the morning. Then her good 
sense revealed to her the kindness of her friend’s purpose 
and she felt grateful. 

As papa and young Frobisher ceased to grapple in 
their controversy concerning gold, and papa began to 
ask Mrs. Burns about the recent quarrel between High 
Church and Low Church in her congregation, young 
Frobisher returned to Miss Hamilton, feeling that per- 
haps he had made a mistake in permitting his attention 
to be diverted, even for a time, to the exploration of fiscal 
mysteries. Walter addressed himself to Mrs. Hamilton, 
a small woman, who represented the loveliness that 
Dorothea would have when she should have grown old 
and had her hair turned to silver. 

Walter was pleased by her quiet, gentle, refined man- 
ners. It was plain enough whence the daughter’s charm 


84 Captain Bluitt 

had been derived. And she liked Walter. He was sure 
of that; and while he spoke to her of common things, 
through his mind ran a stream of thought about himself, 
and the burden of it was: 

‘‘If I win the daughter and the mother, I can afford to 
miss the father’s approval; and the mother’s clearly visi- 
ble excellence is the guarantee and assurance that the 
daughter’s charm is not superficial.” 

When at last Mrs. Burns rose to take her leave Walter 
bade good bye to Dorothea, who said, with a smile, but 
half timidly as if she were almost afraid she might make 
her inner feeling manifest: 

“It will give me much pleasure to have you come to 
see me again.” 

“I shall be in Turley but for a day or two longer. How 
much I should like to come again to-morrow! Or would 
that be too — ” 

“I shall be compelled to remain at home,” said Dorry, 
“and you will be very welcome if you call.” 

Then Mrs. Burns and Walter bade farewell to the 
others and as Mr. Hamilton shook Walter’s hand, he 
asked : 

“Did you tell me what your occupation is, Mr. Drury ?’" 

“I have been a commercial traveller,” said Walter, 
wishing very much that the question had not been asked, 
“but I am going to be a journalist.” 

“Hah!” ejaculated Hamilton. “Delightful profession, 
delightful.” But he looked and felt as if really there was 
not much room for choice between organ-playing and 
newspaper-editing when those occupations are regarded 
from the standpoint of the cashier of a financial insti- 
tution. 

As Walter came down the front steps of the house, Mrs. 
Burns put her arm in his and the young man began to 
make observations about the weather. As Mrs. Burns 
did not at once reply he asked her if she knew his Uncle 
Bluitt, After a moment’s silence and while Walter was 


Face to Face 


8 ? 

beginning to wonder what was the matter with the 
woman, Mrs. Burns asked: 

“What do you think of her?” 

Walter cleared his throat before he ventured to reply: 

“You mean Miss Hamilton?” Then he cleared his 
throat again. 

“Of course,” said Mrs. Burns, with a slight laugh. 

“O, I think she is fine!” 

“She is just the dearest girl in the world. He will be 
a fortunate man who gets her.” 

“Mr. Frobisher perhaps has that idea?” 

Mrs. Burns laughed again. “Who can tell?” she said. 

“I noticed her in church on Sunday,” said Walter, “and 
thought she sang nicely. How odd it was that I should 
meet her and know her so soon afterwards?” 

“Very odd! Fate, maybe.” 

Walter did not answer at once. Then he said: 

“I do not know Turley very well, Mrs. Burns. Do you 
live anywhere near to Uncle’s house?” 

“Yes, a block away.” 

“On the river bank?” 

“Yes; we are almost there. You must come to see me 
sometimes when you are in town. Do you visit Turley 
very often?” 

“No; only at rare intervals.” 

“But you will come oftener now?” 

“I wish I could.” 

Silence. Walter felt as if he should very much like to 
have Mrs. Burns talk more about Dorothea, but he* was 
shy about making any exhibition of his feelings. Mrs'. 
Burns seemed to be considering. Then she said sud- 
denly: 

“She likes you very much!” 

Florabella felt the little nervous tremor in Walter’s arm 
as she uttered these words, and he had a strong impulse 
to blurt out the whole matter to this nice woman, but he 
simply said: 


86 


Captain Bluitt 

“I am most grateful. Do you think I might call there 
again to-morrow? Just — ^just to ask about her hurt foot?” 

She did not directly answer. 

They had reached the door of Mrs. Burns’s house. She 
took his hand, thanked him for coming with her, asked 
him again to visit her, bade him good-bye and said: 

“Believe me Walter, you are a most fortunate young 
man.” Then she went into the house. 

If Walter had not been in love with Dorothea Hamilton 
he would have been in love with Mrs. Burns. He felt 
almost as if Mrs. Burns had authority to speak for the 
younger woman and had given him the one assurance 
that would crown his happiness. 

The next day as the afternoon drew towards evening, 
Walter, with high hope and eager expectation, walked up 
the street towards the house where Dorothea lived. 

Before he reached the dwelling he saw her sitting in 
a wheel-chair upon the side-porch where he had seen her 
on Sunday. She was looking out upon the flower-beds 
in the garden upon which the porch fronted and she 
seemed not to see Walter until he came clear to the 
garden-gate; but he was sure he had not escaped her 
attention. 

The young man stopped by the gate, touched his hat, 
and, placing his hand upon the latch, said: 

“May I come in?” 

“Yes,” replied Dorothea with a smile. 

He entered and came to the porch, which was covered 
with climbing roses upon the end towards the back of 
the garden, and upon part of the front. 

The girl did not try to rise. She extended her hand to 
him, and pointing to a chair, she said: 

“It was kind for you to call so soon again.” 

He felt as if he really deserved small praise for his 
philanthropy. 

“And you are better?” he asked. 

yes! I shall walk in a day or two.” 


Face to Face 


87 


must go away to-morrow I fear/^ he said sadly. 

“But you will come to Turley sometimes, will you not? 
Your uncle and aunt — ” 

Walter felt like saying that the attractive powers of 
his uncle and aunt had never availed to draw him often 
towards Turley; but he answered: 

“Of course I shall come whenever I can, now that I 
have here some other pleasant friends, Mrs. Burns and — 
and you.’^ 

“It is strange I never met you before,” said the girl. 
“I have known your relatives so long.” 

“I have not visited them often, and I never stayed 
more than a few hours at a time. It was mere chance 
that detained me here last Sunday, and I thought Turley 
dreadfully stupid; that is why I went to church.” 

“You were at our church, the Presbyterian Church, 
weren’t you?” 

“Yes, I dropped in intending to stay only for a little 
while and I remained to the end.” 

“You were interested, then?” 

“Yes indeed! Very much interested.” 

“The subject,” said Dorothea, “is always an interest- 
ing one to me, and I was very much profited by the treat- 
ment of it.” 

“The subject?” demanded Walter. “You are referring 
to the—” 

“To the doctor’s sermon. You thought it fine?” 

“It wouldn’t be fair for me to say that,” answered 
Walter, rather mournfully. “To be perfectly frank, I 
never heard a word of it.” 

“Dreadful,” said Dorothea. '‘You were not asleep?” 

“O, no!” 

“No, for I saw you there, wide awake.” 

“You observed me there?” remarked Walter, very wide 
awake now, at any rate. 

“Well, not particularly. I simply saw a stranger right 
opposite to me.” 


88 


Captain Bluitt 

“He cared more for the singing than for anything 
else.” 

Dorothea’s eyes dropped and a tinge of color came 
into her face. 

“You like music don’t you?” 

“Some kinds of music. The kind I heard on Sunday. 
After service I remained and looked at the church. I was 
there again yesterday and went over and sat in one of the 
choir-seats.” 

Dorothea laughed gently, and then asked: 

“Are you a musician?” 

“O, well, just a half-musician. I know something 
about music. Not very much. But I actually was a 
music-teacher once.” 

“And only a half-musician?” 

“When I say I taught music once, I mean strictly 
once — that is, one time.” 

“I don’t quite understand.” 

“May I tell you about it?” 

“Yes indeed!” 

“Why, you know that Uncle Bluitt, who had few 
chances to learn in his youth, is now quite eager to 
obtain knowledge. He said to me one day, a year or two 
ago, that he wished he could have at least enough ac- 
quaintance with music to permit him to read it, and I 
offered to teach him the rudiments. 

“Well, he accepted and we went to the piano and he 
sat upon the stool like a good pupil. I struck one of the 
notes with my finger and said, ‘Uncle that is C.’ He 
looked at it closely and said, ‘Why don’t you begin at 
the beginning, with A?’ I explained to him that it is 
necessary to start with C, and that as I knew about it and 
he didn’t he must trust me. To this he agreed. 

“So we started again. ‘This is C is it?’ he asked, strik- 
ing the key with his finger. ‘Yes, C,’ I answered. He 
looked hard at it, struck it again two or three times, and 
asked, ‘Why is it C?’ ‘That is of no importance,’ I said. 


Face to Face 


89 

'let us just accept the fact that it is C.’ 'But there must 
be some reason for calling it C/ he insisted. 'There is 
none that I know of/ I answered. ‘Well, but Walter,’ he 
said, 'there are twenty-six letters in the alphabet and they 
go to work and pick out one of them, C, for this key; 
now why not have called it R or M? People don’t usually 
act without motives.’ ” 

Dorothea laughed heartily at the narrative. 

"Well,” I said, "all I know about the matter is that C 
was picked out as the name for this key, just as Elijah 
was picked out for your name.” 'Then you admit that 
you can’t explain the fact?’ he asked. 'No, I can’t ex- 
plain it.’ 'Can your aunt Puella explain it?’ 'I don’t be- 
lieve she can,’ I answered. 'Well, my son,’ he said, 'I 
am not willing to go on until I have it explained.’ Then 
he shut the piano, wheeled around on the stool and we 
went into the library to smoke. That educational move- 
ment stopped right there, suddenly; with a jerk, as it 
were.” 

"The dear old Captain,” said Dorothea, who had been 
much amused by the story. "What a pity he couldn’t 
have had better opportunities when he was young!” 

"I don’t care much for teaching,” said Walter seriously, 
and then he joined in the hearty laugh with which 
Dorothea greeted the remark. 

"You will do better as a writer. I heard you tell father 
you would be a journalist.” 

Then Walter, with joyous conviction that he had a 
sympathetic listener, related to the girl, who heard him 
with plainly apparent interest, the story of his past failures 
and of his high hopes and expectations with respect to 
his future. 

"I know you will succeed,” she said earnestly, "and I 
shall watch your career with interest.” 

"That,” said Walter, boldly, "will be a very strong 
incentive to diligent effort. I shall try to win your ap- 
proval.” 


90 


Captain Bluitt 

^‘Aren’t the flowers lovely?’* said Dorothea, with an 
impulse to change the subject of conversation. 

“Lovely! Shall I gather some for you?” 

“Yes, please do. I wish I could help to pick them.” 

“May I wheel you out upon the path among them?” 
asked Walter, eagerly. 

“It would be a great deal of trouble.” 

Walter took hold of the chair and dexterously dropped 
it step by step to the level of the garden. Then he pushed 
it out among the shrubs and flowering plants. He was 
conscious that he had never been so happy before in his 
life. The situation seemed so delightful that he could 
not bear to think that it should ever end. How fortunate 
that papa had found duty strongly urging him to keep 
away from home that afternoon! He should be angry 
even with Florabella Burns if she should be so misguided 
as to call just now. 

Moving about from place to place, he pulled the flowers 
and gave them to her. She held some in her hand, and 
some in her lap; but one sweet flower, red as the sunset, 
she placed upon the bosom of her dress. He looked at 
her, with her modest white costume, her soft brown hair, 
her gentle eyes of blue and at the features in which all 
the graces were represented, and he loved her with a 
passion so strong that he felt any sacrifice he was 
capable of a small thing to offer if he could win her 
love. 

“You are fond of flowers, aren’t you?” she asked. 

“Yes, but I really care for only one.” 

She looked at him with surprise upon her face. 

“Which one?” she said. 

“That one upon your dress,” he said, pointing to it. 
“Won’t you give it to me?” 

Only for an instant she hesitated, and then she said 
softly: “Yes,” and she offered it to him. 

He made as if he would breathe its fragrance, but she 
thought as he held it to his face his lips touched it, and 


the blood surged into her cheeks; but she was not dis- 
pleased. 

“Shall we return to the porch?” she asked. 

Walter brought her chair again to the place where it 
had been. 

“I wish you could sing for me,” he said. 

“Not here!” she answered. 

“No, and it will not be well for you to try to move from 
the chair to the piano-stool. But it would give me much 
pleasure to hear you again.” 

“Some other time,” she said. 

“And I may come again?” 

“O yes,” she answered with a little laugh, and a glance 
at him, “if you care to do so. You will always be wel- 
come.” 

“And if I can’t come very often, may I write to you 
sometimes?” 

She looked away for a moment, and then turning her 
face towards him said: 

“If father and mother were willing, I am sure I should 
be glad to hear from you how you like your new profes- 
sion and how you are getting on.” 

“You will ask your mother, won’t you?” said Walter, 
warmly. “Not now, not to-day. But I will write to you, 
and you may show the letter to her and beg her to let 
you answer.” 

“Yes, I will do that.” 

“I will write very seriously,” said Walter, “so that she 
will think me a safe and wise counsellor for you.” 

“But not too seriously,” said Dorothea, smiling, “I 
am not averse to a bit of fun.” 

“Don’t be afraid of me in that particular,” responded 
Walter. “I am more likely to err in the other direction. 
Life would hardly be endurable without some good 
humor.” 

“Surely life has not yet been very hard for you?” 

“No, I suppose not. But I can see plainly that it is 


92 


Captain Bluitt 

upon the whole, for the mass of men, tragical; but fortu- 
nately the Creator has permitted us to see and enjoy the 
comedy side of it.” 

“Pure, honest fun, I think,” said Dorothea, “is one of 
the most innocent and delightful and helpful things in 
the world.” 

“Yes, even downright foolery has its uses. How a 
baby likes to laugh!” 

“The sweetest and purest being in the world,” added 
the girl. “It has a natural passion for fun.” 

“Don’t you suppose there will be fun in heaven?” asked 
Walter. 

Dorothea suddenly became very serious. 

“Why, I never thought of that. Do you believe it?” 

“Why not?” 

“We always think of Heaven with a kind of solemn 
awe. Somehow the idea of laughter there jars our feel- 
ings a little bit.” 

“But if the innocent baby likes to laugh, why should 
not the sinless angels be joyous with laughter? There 
is no more crying or pain in Heaven — ” 

“No tears,” added Dorothea solemnly, “God has wiped 
them all away.” 

“And so, if there is singing for joy, why not laughter 
for joy? Yes, I really believe we shall have fun there. 
There must be compensation for all the sadness of this 
sad life.” 

Dorothea smiled, but did not answer excepting to say: 

“Perhaps it is so.” 

And so they sat and talked about things earthly and 
heavenly, while all the earthly things seemed heavenly to 
both of them, and the sun moved toward the horizon and 
the shadows grew long, and he put off from moment to 
moment the task of saying good-bye, until at last, Mrs. 
Hamilton came to the door, and greeting Walter pleas- 
antly, said to her daughter: 


Face to Face 


93 

‘‘Shouldn’t you come in now dear, before the twilight? 
You are thinly dressed.” 

“Yes, mother,” she answered. 

“May I put your chair into the house?” asked Walter. 

“If you will be so kind.” 

He wheeled her into the parlor and placed her by the 
window that looked upon the street. Then he offered her 
his hand and she took it and he said: 

“I thank you very, very much for the most delightful 
afternoon I have ever had. And now good-bye.” 

“Good-bye,” she said, and he felt as if he should like to 
kiss that lovely hand. 

He went out by the front door, and as he passed the 
window she looked for him and as he touched his hat she 
smiled upon him and he knew that she too had had 
delight. 

He walked homeward a proud and happy man, saying 
to himself again and again, as if the words were freighted 
full of bliss, “She loves me! Yes, she loves me!” 


CHAPTER VII 

The Hero becomes a Professional Man 

T he fact is, Walter Drury, like many other men, 
had talents which were not known to himself and 
not guessed at by his friends until opportunity 
came to him. 

Often after he began work upon the Evening Times up 
in the great city, he recalled Uncle Bluitt’s assertion that 
most of the failures may be attributed to misfits, and he 
thought his uncle right. Walter, compelled to earn his 
living while little more than a boy, had endeavored simply 
to find employment which would give him pay, and as 
commercial positions were most abundant and easiest to 
get, and as his friends had gone into commercial life, 
naturally he had attempted to learn business in which 
buying and selling were done. 

Traffic was distasteful to him from the beginning, but 
he thought perhaps this was because boys prefer play to 
work. He was conscious that his tastes were different 
from those of other young people with whom he was 
thrown in business; but he was not at all sure that any 
employment would suit his taste, for the only things he 
cared much for were study and writing, and these seemed 
to him to offer no promise of daily bread. 

And so, in one position after another, he had tried 
valiantly to play a part as a commercial man, and in every 
instance complete, humiliating failure greeted him. 

He began seriously to fear that he should never suc- 
ceed at anything and some of his relatives had the same 
apprehension. What he needed was a wise counselor and 
an open door. He found the first in a youth of kindred 

(94) 


A New Profession 

tastes whom he had met while he was journeying about 
the country proving that he could not become a salesman. 

This young man was a reporter upon the Evening 
Times, and in speaking with Drury he expressed his 
delight with the work and recommended it to Walter. 
Walter thought he could do such work and he felt that 
he should like to do it. He perceived that he had better 
education than his friend, and this increased his confi- 
dence that he might succeed as a reporter and perhaps 
reach greater heights in the profession than those to 
which his friend aspired. 

Surrendering with something like joyfulness his last 
commercial place, Walter entered the office of the Times 
as a reporter and plunged into the work with enthusiasm. 
It was a period when a very bright man upon a very 
bright paper was certain to have quick appreciation from 
his readers and his employers; and Walter was unusually 
bright. He had also very remarkable quickness and 
clearness as a writer, a fact he had not known. Thus he 
delighted in composition and he contributed to the journal 
matter much in excess of the expectation of the managing 
authorities, who were not slow to perceive that all of it 
was good. 

A youth who could write uncommonly well; who could 
prepare attractive original matter and was willing and 
eager to do much more than his share of work, was a rare 
being in that office, as in other newspaper offices; and 
Walter was pleasantly surprised to have his pay con- 
siderably increased before he had been for two weeks a 
journalist. 

This and other evidences of appreciation stimulated 
him strongly, and he strove to do even better. It was a 
novel experience for him to have work to do that he 
could do with delight, and the assurance that it was good 
work intensified his pleasure. 

As often happens when Fortune begins to smile, she 
had larger favors waiting for him. 


96 Captain Bluitt 

Almost without warning, two of the editors resigned 
from the staff to accept positions upon a journal in a 
Western city. The manager of the Times called Walter 
into his office and after relating the fact to him asked: 

“Do you think you could fill an editorship?’^ 

“I think so,” answered Walter bravely. 

“Well, you shall have a chance to try;” and he gave 
the young man the place, his salary being doubled. 

It may be taken for granted that down in Turley there 
was a damsel who was informed of all these wonderful 
achievements and victories and advancements, and who 
read with deep interest the journals sent to her in which, 
first, were reporter’s articles and afterwards editorials, 
written with such wisdom and positiveness and deep 
gravity as might have trailed from the pen of a venerable 
philosopher of sixty years. And with what admiration 
she examined the dramatic-criticisms and the book-criti- 
cisms prepared by this young editor, who spoke in print 
about the drama and literature as if mastery of both had 
been his pastime in years long flown. 

In his letters, which were really almost too frequent, 
although there seemed in each case to be a positively 
good reason for writing just at that time, Walter told the 
story of his successes, and of the crowning success, and 
expressed the pleasure he found in hard work that was 
congenial while it was profitable. He secretly hoped she 
would find in his triumph some reason for rejoicing, some 
reason for admiration, and that perhaps some rumor 
would come to papa’s ears of the surprising movement 
of an inexperienced youth within three months from the 
bottom place upon the staff to a position not very far 
from the top. 

But while letters and marked newspapers are very use- 
ful as messengers, there is something better in seeing 
face to face; and so Walter found a way to obtain respite 
for a day from his responsible duties and that day he 
would spend in Turley. 


97 


A New Profession 

It was all arranged beforehand that there was to be 
a long drive out through the country (to get chestnuts, 
he said in his letter), and that he was to spend the even- 
ing at Dorothea’s house if the way should be open to 
blissfulness of that nature. 

So, taking the early train for Turley and calling at the 
Hamilton mansion to be sure that Dorothea would be 
ready right after luncheon, Walter went down to Uncle 
Bluitt’s house and got him to promise to lend him his 
bay-mare and brand new buggy. 

To be really sure that the mare and the buggy were 
in the stable, so that there should be no mischance, 
Walter went out through the garden and looked upon 
the animal and the vehicle. Then he tried to find Rufus, 
so that Rufus would have the mare hitched when the hour 
for beginning the journey should come. 

Rufus could not be found, and so Walter walked over 
to his house, and knocked upon the door. 

Hannah, the wife of Rufus, opened the door and, in- 
forming him that Rufus would be home again in a few 
minutes, invited him to come in and wait. 

Captain Bluitt’s hired man, Rufus Potter, had been 
born in the mountain country of Eastern Tennessee of 
parents who could with difficulty read and write. His 
home was a log-cabin and his fate from his childhood 
hard work. At the age of nineteen he had gone to Knox- 
ville to find employment and had succeeded in obtaining 
a position as driver of a freight-wagon. He had never 
seen the ocean, but what he heard about it and the little 
he was able to read about it gave him a craving to look 
upon the salt water and he had even some small notion 
that he might like to become a sailor, although he felt by 
no means sure of this. 

When he had saved enough money to pay his railroad- 
fare he came eastward to the great city and shipped as a 
landsman upon a vessel bound for Rio de Janeiro. 

Under the most promising circumstances the life of a 

7 


98 Captain Bluitt 

wholly inexperienced landsman upon a ship manned by 
other seamen could not be overcharged with joyfulness; 
but the personal appearance of Rufus, his awkwardness, 
his want of sense, and his almost incredible capacity for 
blundering exposed him to contempt which sometimes 
expressed itself in ridicule and sometimes in harsh treat- 
ment. 

It was his great misfortune to have fallen overboard 
three times during the voyage to Rio; and the third time 
he was brought upon the deck in a condition of uncon- 
sciousness. As his senses returned to him he heard the 
voice of the mate saying, “If he goes over again, just 
let him go. It’s Fate! He is just shark’s-meat anyway.” 
But the captain thought differently; and when Rufus had 
been fully restored the captain directed that he should 
wear two cork life-preservers, day and night, so that the 
chances of rescue would be enlarged when next Rufus 
should be precipitated into the rolling waves. Rufus’s 
Spirit revolted at this humiliation, but as the mate plainly 
indicated that rebellion would bring stripes besides the 
cork-jacket, he submitted and remained in a condition of 
clear misery until the ship reached Rio. 

There, one night, he dropped overboard with his life- 
preservers on, determined to perish rather than to endure 
the anguish of another voyage under such conditions. 
Hiding himself and feeding himself as he could until he 
saw the brig at last sail from the bay, he made his way 
to the city penniless, helpless and wretched, but glad that 
his cork-jackets could be now laid aside permanently. 

A policeman observing him and perceiving that he was 
lost and forlorn, took him to the office of the American 
Consul. Upon entering, they found there Captain Bluitt 
of the bark Romulus. Rufus related with artlessness and 
some touches of pathos his melancholy history, and the 
kind heart of Captain Bluitt was touched. He consented 
to take Rufus with him upon the return voyage of the 
Romulus and to make him his cabin steward. 


A New Profession gg 

When the captain gave up sea-faring, Rufus clung to 
him and the captain brought him to Turley, where Rufus 
took charge of the horses, for which he had great fond- 
ness, dug the garden, and performed the ordinary func- 
bons of the hired man upon a place of an acre and a half. 
Rufus delighted in this work. He would rather have 
worked for Captain Bluitt without wages than to have 
grown rich in the service of another man. 

Soon after coming to Turley, Rufus, thin, homely, with 
a sharp nose and faintly blue eyes and with a tuft of sandy 
beard upon the tip of his chin, was bold enough to woo 
and fortunate enough to get, Hannah Wilcox, who since 
her childhood had been Mrs. Frobisher’s maid. They 
were married and Captain Bluitt built for them a small 
frame-house at the back of his garden, where they lived 
in that happiness which follows upon a marriage born 
of true love. 

Hannah was much superior to Rufus mentally and she 
had had some education at the public school. The per- 
sonal appearance of Rufus, to the ordinary observer, 
seemed unlikely to stir up violent enthusiasm in the 
feminine bosom; but Hannah’s affection was real, and it 
succeeded in presenting Rufus to her mind as a man of 
exalted qualities, physical and intellectual. She thought 
him fine-looking; she thought him heroic; she believed 
all the stories he told her of his prowess upon the seas; 
and the stimulative influence of her admiration urged 
Rufus more and more to permit his imagination to play 
upon the experiences of a sailor’s life until really it seemed 
to Hannah, and even to Rufus himself, that Rufus ought 
to have a place by the side of Magellan, Captain Cook 
and the other famous navigators. 

'‘Rufus,” said Captain Bluitt to Dr. Frobisher, "never 
had the smallest glimmer of sense, but he is faithful, and 
he does the small jobs about the place here very well. As 
for seamanship, he never knew for certain on which end 
of the ship the rudder is and Fm sure he used to think 

LofC. 


lOO 


Captain Bluitt 

that the compass helped to make the ship move through 
the water. He asked me one day when we were tacking 
what made the sun shift from one side of the vessel to the 
other, and he firmly believed the story when the cook told 
him that the masts grew out of the bottom of the ship.” 

Mrs. Potter, clean and smart and bright, bustled about 
the room for a few moments after Walter entered the 
house, completing her dinner arrangements, while she 
managed four young children who played about the floor. 
Then she sat down near to Walter, and wiping her clean 
hands on her clean white apron she said: 

“Excuse me Mr. Walter, but Pm so glad to see you! 
I’ve heard so much about you, and seen you too at a 
distance, but it’s a perfect joy to me to have you in my 
very own house.” 

“What is your name?” asked Walter. 

“My name given to me in baptism where my sponsors 
then did for me, is Hannah; but I think it is the most 
perfectly hateful name and I would change it in a minute 
if I could.” 

“Why don’t you change it?” 

“Well, Mr. Walter, I have few differences with Rufus, 
who is just a lovely husband overflowing with tenderness, 
but he and I can’t agree what name to change Hannah 
to. I want to be called Gladys and he wants to call me 
Myrtle, because he says he can remember Myrtle so much 
easier than he can remember Gladys, though to save my 
life I can’t understand why any man’s memory should be 
so deplorable that it can hold on to Myrtle while it lets 
go of Gladys. I did offer to split the difference with 
Rufus and to have him call me Beryl, a perfectly lovely 
name, but not so sweet as Gladys, but he said Beryl is 
just as difficult for the memory to retain its grasp of as 
Gladys’, and so we had to drop the whole plan and he 
just goes along in the old way and calls me Han.” 

“That sounds well enough, I think,” said Walter in a 
tone intending to convey comfort, 


A New Profession loi 

O, I can stand it Mr. Walter, from such a man as 
Rufus! Mr. Walter, you don’t know Rufus! He may be 
plain and I don’t say he ain’t, but he has in him many 
elements of greatness.” 

“Not much chance to display them here, you think?” 

“No, no Mr. Walter! Here Rufus is not in his rightful 
sphere. He has powers far, far beyond such work as 
this.” 

“When the assessor asked me to give him the name 
of Rufus’s business I said ‘Mariner,’ for that’s what Rufus 
really is. He tends to Cap’n Bluitt’s horses and makes 
garden to oblige the cap’n to whom he is fondly attached ; 
but Rufus’s real occupation is that of a navigator of the 
mighty deep. There’s where his affections is, and, if it 
wasn’t for me and Cap’n Bluitt, Rufus at this very 
moment would be bounding o’er the billows of the fath- 
omless ocean.” 

“It’s a dangerous business,” said Walter. 

“Yes, it takes real courage to be a true mariner and 
Rufus has got courage if he ain’t got anything else. 
Many and many’s the time, as he tells me when he talks 
of his wild adventures, that Rufus has been out on the 
very top of the giddy mast, with the bark beneath him 
pitching like a crazy horse and threatening to hurl him 
into the waste of waters ; but Rufus’s spirit never quailed. 
With the wind tearing through the tattered sheets and the 
waves raging and roaring and seething with foam, Rufus 
from his lofty perch has looked with unflinching gaze at 
the fierce tempest and hurled defiance at it. That’s what 
Rufus told me himself.” 

“Really a remarkable exhibition of nerve,” said Walter, 
smiling. 

“And one tirne when the savage sharks, ferocious with 
hunger, were lurking around the ship looking for their 
prey, Rufus dived overboard right among them to rescue 
a shipmate, and picking him up, swum with one hand 
and both legs while he sustained his drowning fellow 


102 


Captain Bluitt 

being with the other hand and brought him safe and 
sound to the deck of the vessel. No wonder Cap’n Bluitt 
is fond of Rufus. The cap’n has seen him many and 
many’s the time in moments of awful danger when Rufus 
was just as tranquil as a man asleep in his pew in church 
and not a nerve in his body quivered, so Rufus himself 
said.” 

“And this is why Cap’n Bluitt put his hand on Rufus’s 
shoulder one day and said to him, ^ ‘My man, you have 
in you the making of a great sailor,’ and he would have 
made Rufus his first leftenant then and there if Rufus 
had only understood the mysteries of the navigator’s art 
and so Cap’n Bluitt, taking Rufus from time to time in 
his cabin, began to impart them to him, so that Rufus 
now has mastered them and can turn the prow of a great 
ship anywhere on the trackless ocean and direct it a bee- 
line to the haven where it would be.” 

“Rufus understands navigation, does he?” 

“Perfectly. Cap’n Bluitt has unfolded the whole 
science to him; but little real use is it to Rufus to know 
about these things seeing that his family and an ironical 
fate have decreed that he should spend his life hence- 
forth upon dry land. But Rufus is determined not to dis- 
dain this useful knowledge and so he practices every day 
out in the garden there amid the asparagus bed where 
there are no trees to obscure the view of the sun. Rufus 
takes the captain’s sexton and other nautical instruments 
and as noontide approaches he makes his observations, 
taking latitude and longitude and discovering what is 
indeed the true time of day. And the fact that Rufus 
really does know how to perform this operation correctly 
is proved in my opinion by the fact that almost every day 
he shows that the town-clock is wrong — sometimes, 
Rufus tells me, from one hour to four out of the way. 
Rufus therefore disregards the clock and carries the true 
time in his watch and that’s the reason why some ignorant 
people who depend upon that worthless town-clock some- 


A New Profession ,03 

times complain of him that he is late when in deed and in 
truth he is on time to the minute.” 

The proof that Rufus is right is conclusive,” remarked 
Walter. 

“And there is another thing Rufus learned from Cap’n 
Bluitt hardly less significant than navigation, and that 
is what Cap n Bluitt calls the use of the Roman numerals. 
I don't pretend to know much about it myself, but Rufus’s 
mind has a quick grasp of such matters and he tells me 
they used to use letters of the alphabet instead of figgers 
in counting; thus IV will stand for 4 and so forth, just 
like on a clock. Rufus was so fascinated by the system 
that he began to keep his accounts with the cap’n for 
the butter and eggs and fruit and vegetables he sold 
down here to Mr. Shoemaker’s store in the Roman 
numerals, and it was his delight to use them. But he 
has given up the practice now at Cap’n Bluitt’s earnest 
personal request.” 

“Why?” asked Walter. 

“Because the first month after Rufus began to figger 
that way he went to the cap’n to settle up and it appeared 
from the report that Rufus owed Cap’n Bluitt a sum of 
money ranging somewheres near to four hundred thous- 
and dollars or thereabouts and upwards and Rufus he 
said to Cap’n Bluitt, T don’t see how that can be when 
I only sold eight bushels of potatoes and a few tomats 
and four pounds of butter and a few stewing apples and 
anyhow,’ said Rufus to Cap’n Bluitt, fit is difficult for 
me to know how I am ever going to pay you four hun- 
dred thousand dollars and upwards when my wages is 
but eight dollars a week with milk and eggs and kindling 
wood throwed in.’ Whereupon Cap’n Bluitt kindly pro- 
ceeded to overhaul Rufus’s monthly report and ere long 
discovered that the mistake was caused by the fact that 
Rufus misunderstood the cap’n when he explained to him 
the system of Roman numerals, for Rufus misunderstood 
him to say that M stood for 5, whereas really V stands 


,04 Captain Bluitt 

for 5 and M stands for looo and so on and others letters 
mixed the same way through misapprehension or Rufus 
not hearing aright, with the result that the money owed 
by Rufus to Cap’n Bluitt for the month’s transactions 
instead of running far up to a staggering sum of hundreds 
of thousands and upwards was readily reduced by accu- 
rate arithmetical proceedings to eleven dollars and thirty- 
eight cents. So Rufus dropped the Roman figgers and 
was glad to do it until he could get more practice because 
he said Cap’n Bluitt might sometime feel queer and 
crooked and take advantage of him when the report spoke 
of millions and maybe seize our household furniture and 
put me and Rufus in jail for debt. So now Rufus keeps 
tally of the butter and pears by cutting notches in the 
studding-post on the left-hand side as you go in the door 
of the cow-stable.” 

“That really seems to me safer,” said Walter. 

At this juncture Rufus entered the house with his 
oldest boy, Sammy, and the three other children, who had 
come from school to eat their dinners. 

After greeting Walter, Rufus promised to have the 
mare and the buggy ready for him at ten minutes of two 
o’clock precisely; and Walter returned to the mansion. 

When Dorry Hamilton came from the house wrapped 
in her warm grey coat, and carrying a heavy shawl for 
further protection if that should be needed upon the ride, 
Walter felt, as he stood by the stone carriage-step ready 
to help her to climb into the vehicle, as if he were about 
to have altogether the most delightful experience of his 
life. She looked so pretty, too, in the coat of becoming 
color and shape, in the silk handkerchief that encircled 
her throat, and in the tasteful bonnet in which her sweet 
face was framed. 

And when she was seated and comfortably tucked in 
and Walter sat beside her elbow to elbow, sure that he 
should have her and her alone for his companion for the 
whole afternoon, it seemed to him as if that old complaint 


lOj 


A New Profession 

he had heard so much, and which he himself more than 
once had made, about life being tragical, could hardly 
have any basis in fact. At any rate, there are compensa- 
tions. Tragedy there may be, but nobody can deny that 
there is a generous proportion of joy, and Walter thought 
within himself that he would be quite willing to accept 
some of the tragedy if he could now and then have such 
an allotment of pure bliss as had now been bestowed 
upon him. 

It was an October day, and there was a frosty flavor in 
the atmosphere, making wraps desirable for comfort; 
and yet it was one of those days bright with sunshine and 
rich in the autumnal colorings of nature, when life really 
seems better worth living than at any other time. 

As the youth and the maiden, joyous with health and 
hope, and more joyous still because they had their first 
glorious glimpses of “that new world which is the old,’^ 
where the master-passion makes life perpetually raptur- 
ous, — drove out from the town into the lane bordered 
with trees crimsoned with autumnal tints, and looked 
away toward the hills covered with gold, and fairly flam- 
ing in the sunshine, Walter said: 

“What a queer thing it was for the poet to speak of 
these days in the autumn as ‘the melancholy days; the 
saddest of the year.' I think they are not a bit sad. They 
seem to me the most delightful of all the days.” 

“So do I,” answered his companion. “The poet was 
feeling sad, I guess.” 

“Why,” said Walter, “the heat of the summer is past, 
we have coolness and comfort without cold, and all the 
earth is beautiful with coloring compared with which 
mere verdure is tame. Look at that tree! It is like a 
mass of crimson fire. Summer has nothing half so 
splendid.” 

“The mood we are in affects our view of things, always, 

I suppose,” said the girl. 

“Yes,” answered Walter joyfully, “and it may be that 


io6 Captain Bluitt 

the world looks so lovely to me now, because I am so 
happy/' 

It was the boldest thing he had ever said to her; she 
did not reply, but a glance at her face convinced him that 
she was by no means unhappy. 

“No doubt it is true," he continued, “that our feelings 
color everything. I remember a man who was in deep 
affliction saying to me that the sunshine looked black to 
him — literally black." 

“How dreadful! Poor man!" 

“It seemed to me like exaggeration, but maybe it was 
not. I am sure that everything seems to have new beauty 
for me within the last few months." 

“Your occupation is suited to your tastes, that is the 
reason." 

Walter knew that this was not the only reason, and 
he guessed that she knew it, but he answered: 

“O yes, of course. The slightest labor in my old busi- 
ness was hard and hateful; but now I can do any quantity 
of work and delight in it, as if it were pastime." 

“How nice that is," she said with sympathy in her 
voice. 

With masculine selfishness, his talk was of his own 
things. 

“Do you know that when I look back at myself as I 
was — well, early last summer, I can't understand how I 
found mere existence endurable; everything seems so 
cold and uninteresting and even repulsive." 

“I feel in that way, too," said the girl artlessly. 

“I think of that horrid traffic I worked at so hard and 
with so little interest, and then— then, I didn't know you! 
You have been so kind, and your letters have given me 
so much comfort!" 

“They were poor enough letters, I fear," she said. 

“If you only knew how they helped and comforted me, 
you would not say so. It was much that I had work to 


A New Profession 107 

do that I liked, but much, also, very much, that you cared 
to read what I had written and to praise it.” 

“Because it was so good,” she said heartily. “Even 
father spoke very warmly in praise of two or three of your 
articles.” 

“Did he?” said Walter, eagerly. 

“Yes, several of them, and mother thought they were 
wonderful for a man who had had so little experience. 
And as for Florabella Burns! — ah, if you could hear the 
fine things she said about you your ears would tingle.” 

“Mrs. Burns won’t have to develop much further 
before she turns into a completely equipped angel.” 

“I love her so much!” said the girl warmly. “I don’t 
know why, but I care more for her than for girls of my 
own age.” 

“I wish I could think it is because she praises me,” 
said Walter. There was a tempting opportunity for 
another movement toward perfect bliss and he could 
hardly resist it. 

Dorothea laughed lightly, and said: 

“She praises all my friends.” 

Dorothea felt as if perhaps the crisis had better not be 
reached in that particular place at that particular moment. 

Walter had a strong impulse to make the plunge and 
have it over; but he reflected that he had known the girl 
but three or four months; that she might not care for 
him now, or she might not care for him as much as she 
would do after a while; and that, if the very worst came, 
it would be singularly unpleasant to have to drive three 
or four miles homeward in a buggy with a girl who had 
refused him. And then, papa might be more likely to 
smile upon the undertaking when the editor’s salary 
should grow larger. 

He decided to wait. 

Then they came to the place where the great chestnut- 
trees, growing in the field, upon a high bank, overspread 
the road-side; and then the bay-mare stopped, while 


io8 Captain Bluitt 

Walter, dismounting, hitched her to a small tree, and 
then helped Dorry to disentangle herself from the wraps 
and to descend from the vehicle. 

The ground upon the side of the roadway was strewn 
thickly with brown leaves, amid which were open chest- 
nut-burs riven asunder (according to popular belief) by 
the frost, and hidden among the leaves were quantities of 
chestnuts, brown, fat, and cold to the touch, as they were 
tempting to the eye. 

Walter had passed the time when chestnut-seeking, 
regarded from the standpoint of the mere consumer, had 
in it incitements to enthusiasm, and Dorothea Hamilton 
was not eager for it as a means of obtaining supplies for 
the appetite; but both of them thought as they wandered 
about under the great trees amid the rustling leaves, with 
no one near to listen to their discourse, with the sunlight 
sifting through the overhead branches and streaking the 
dead leaves and the dust with gold, that never before had 
the gathering of chestnuts had anything like such an 
infusion of poetic interest as that which was plainly per- 
ceptible now. 

As he picked the nuts from the ground, Walter put 
them into a little basket brought by Dorothea, and when 
she had a handful she came over to him and dropped 
them into the basket, with what the young man thought 
such sweet grace that he would have been willing to 
continue for hours to gather such a harvest if the day 
had not so much shortened itself since the summer 
time. 

But, before the basket was filled, Dorothea said: 

“I think we should stop now, and make ready to go 
home. The sun is not far from going down.” 

So they put the basket in the back-part of the buggy, 
and then he helped her in once more, and wrapped her 
up, and untying the mare, got into the vehicle himself and 
drove as slowly as he could upon the homeward-road. 

To entertain her, Walter told her of his talk with 


A New Profession 109 

Hannah Potter and of Hannah^s enthusiasm for Rufus 
and of her perfect faith in Rufus. 

Dorothea laughed heartily and said: 

‘‘Poor old Rufus! He has been an admirer of Flora- 
bella. Did she tell you of the present he brought to her?’" 

“No.^’ 

“He brought her a dog, which he explained was ‘a plug' 
dog, and very valuable. She has it yet. Last year, when 
there was a good deal of malarial fever in Turley, Rufus 
asked Dr. Quelch about it, and remarked ‘Some says it’s 
infectious, and some says it’s contagious, but what I want 
to know, doctor, is it ketchin’?’” 

“That is really fine,” said Walter. “I must remember 
that. But what impressed me was that his wife, who 
seems like a bright woman, has actually persuaded her- 
self that that ungainly creature is sublime, heroic. ‘He 
has many elements of greatness,’ she said to me.” 

“How funny I” said Dorothea. And yet,” she said, sud- 
denly becoming sober, “and yet, if she loves him — !” 

“Well?” asked Walter, “if she loves him, what then?” 

“Then? O, then, no wonder she glorifies him!” 

“Love, the Transformer!” said Walter. 

“Yes, yes! Is it not so?” exclaimed the girl. “If she 
loves him all his ungainliness is grace and his stupidity 
wisdom. A woman must have one hero.” 

Afterwards Walter thought himself a fool that he did 
not give this woman at that very moment a chance to 
say if she had found her hero yet; but instead he said: 

“How wonderful is the love that can make Rufus seem 
heroic! It is a severe dead-lift that can exalt such a 
clumsy, ignorant fellow.” 

Dorothea made no response. She felt that she had 
perhaps spoken unwisely. She was convinced by Wal- 
ter’s answer that she had done so. 

The carriage neared Graver’s Point. “Would you be 
willing to stop here, just for a moment?” asked Walter. 
“I have never seen the Park. You know I did not leave 


I lO 


Captain Bluitt 

the road when I was here last summer. I want to look at 
the place where I first met you.” 

She agreed, and again they both dismounted and when 
he had made the mare secure, the youth and the girl 
walked slowly outward toward the river. 

The river had on it some of the tints of the setting sun, 
and when they had looked out in silence upon the flowing 
stream, they turned, and there, off in the West, beyond 
the hills which began to grow sombre as the light was 
withdrawn from the eastern slopes, all the sky was shin- 
ing with the splendor of gold and purple and green. The 
few drifting clouds were masses of flame, and from below, 
as if all space behind the summits were filled with glory, 
streamed upward an immeasurable expanse of golden 
light quivering in the autumn air. 

“Isn’t it lovely?” exclaimed Dorothea. 

“Lovely beyond the possibility of words.” 

“Nothing in all nature is so magnificent as that.” 

“No, nothing!” answered Walter. “How absurd it is 
to try to represent such overwhelming brilliancy with 
paint! No man can paint that!” 

“It seems almost as if it might be an opening of the 
gates of the Celestial City,” said Dorothea, solemnly. 
“The Glory of the Lord — of the Lord of Hosts!” 

“But it is of the earth earthy,” said Walter. “Already 
it begins to fade!” 

“And that will shine forever and forever,” she answered. 

They walked away from the cliff. 

“There,” said Dorothea, pointing to a bench, “is where 
I sat with Florabella when I saw the child about to fall 
over the cliff.” 

“And you rescued it?” asked Walter. 

“That is how I sprained my ankle,” she said. 

“I never heard of it before. And so you are a real 
heroine,” he remarked. 

“O, no! It was nothing. Any one would have done 
it, without thinking.” 


A New Profession u, 

''But how lucky it was you were hurt,” he said. 

"Lucky?” 

For me, I mean. I might never have known you, had 
you not been injured at that very time in that very place. 
Of course I am sorry, so sorry, that you suffered.” 

Then they rode homeward once more, and he said: 

I shall never forget that place. Do you know places 
sometimes acquire a kind of sacredness; and perhaps this 
will do so. You will come here again, will you not?” 

"O, yes!” 

"With me, too?” 

"Perhaps so.” 

It was to be the lot of one of them, when many years 
had flown, to come to this spot, stricken, afflicted, lonely ; 
to traverse it step by step; to say ‘‘it was here we stood 
and saw the sunset; here we walked beneath the trees; 
here we looked at the great river and here we had joy 
deep, intense, unspeakable;— joy that is now but a mem- 
joy that will not be known again until we meet in 
heaven; we two; we two who are one, no matter if infinity 
lies between us to separate us, for love spans the gulf of 
death, imperishable, eternal, triumphant.” 

"I go back to the city to-night,” he said as the carriage 
slowly entered Turley, while the dusk enveloped the town. 
"You will write again to me, will you not?” 

"Yes, yes; I will write,” she said. 

"You cannot imagine the pleasure I have had to-day 
in your company!” continued the youth. 

"I have had a delightful time and I thank you so 
much.” 

"Good-bye,” he said, as she dismounted and prepared 
to enter the house. 

"Good-bye,” she said, and he thought she looked love 
at him from those soft grey eyes. He knew that her hand 
lingered in his, when he pressed it. 

"She is mine,” he said to himself as he drove down the 
street, a happy man. 


I 12 


Captain Bluitt 

And she, as she hurried to her room, to sit and think 
over and over again of the words he said and of his ap- 
pearance and his tenderness, said to herself, ‘That is my 
hero! I am sure he loves me!" 


CHAPTER Vm 

Two Men of Turley 

O F Doctor Thomas Quelch the finest thing that 
can be said is that in his early manhood he 
discovered the secret of all high and noble 
living, Unselfishness; and all through his long 
life, now extended nearly to four-score years, he had 
shaped his character and his conduct upon that principle. 
He was loved and honored wherever he was known, and 
he was widely known. 

He was a country physician, with a practice actually 
covering an area of twenty square miles in which were 
many towns and villages, and there were hundreds of 
homes within that area to which he came now and then 
as the most welcome visitor. The domestic secrets that 
he knew, the sorrows, the pleasures, the crimes, the things 
kept hidden even from neighbors and friends, would have 
supplied material for a wonderful history of life in that 
region. There were families who looked upon him as the 
good physician, of singular skill, who had more than 
once balked the assaults of death upon their dear ones; 
others knew him as the kind consoler in sorrow; the wise 
counselor in difficulty; the generous helper in distress; 
the faithful champion against the attacks of human 
enemies. 

He owned more than one mortgage which had never 
drawn interest in his hands, but which he had bought to 
save foreclosure; he had shown scores of young men the 
way of peace and of honor; he had brought harmony to 
many a household in which discord had threatened to end 
with disruption and disgrace; he had given his profes- 

8 (113) 


114 Captain Bluitt 

sional services more frequently for nothing than for 
money; he had been the wise arbiter in many a conten- 
tion between employer and employed; he had shielded 
sinning men from exposure and disgrace that they might 
have another chance to retain their foothold in society, 
and more than one sinning woman was brought back to 
self-respect and to hope and to a better life because he 
could pardon human weakness and give pity and help 
where the less kindly might have found reason only for 
reproval and repulsion. 

In the large world, beyond the region in which he did 
his daily work, his name was not without shining fame. 
He was one of the masters of the science which he prac- 
ticed, and no doubt had he preferred to conduct his opera- 
tions in the great cities and to thrust himself more strenu- 
ously upon public attention, he would have been known 
everywhere as a great physician. But he was a ready 
and frequent writer, and his papers upon professional 
subjects were familiar to readers of the medical journals, 
and always were pregnant with scientific knowledge and 
with sound sense; — sound sense, the most valuable of all 
intellectual qualities, if indeed it be not also a moral 
quality. He was ardent in controversy, but always with 
refined courtesy. It was his rule never to write an angry 
word and it was his habit to put his most vigorous asser- 
tions, if it were possible, into the form of an inquiry. He 
had fought many battles, and often he had won, but never 
without also winning the respect and esteem of his an- 
tagonist; and sometimes when it came to pass that in 
the judgment of his opponents it seemed that he had been 
driven from the field, he had found that by waiting 
patiently time had given him the victory. 

Victory was never greeted by him with expressions of 
exultation, but with reserve and humility that impelled 
him who had been upon the wrong side to seek to be 
among the first to acknowledge the error. Long before 
other physicians were able to perceive that cold water 


Two Men of Turley ,,5 

could bring anything but hurt to fevered patients, his 
practice had been to permit the sufferer to drink cold 
water at will, and to his clear vision and fearless resolu- 
tion in this and in other matters wherein the notions of 
the times were at variance with his own theories, persons 
all about the region in which he operated owed not only 
diminution of bodily misery, but their triumph over 
disease. 

He was one of the first to lend a hand in the efforts 
that were made to encourage the slaves to seek liberty 
in flight. Long years after he had begun to show black 
fugitives the way to freedom, the process which he helped 
to arrange was named the Underground Railroad. His 
premises not far from the town of Turley represented a 
station upon the line. His money found its way into the 
South, with other money, in trusty hands, and when 
slavery was overthrown and he had found rest from all 
his toil, his children had memories of mysterious noises 
about his grounds at night; of rumbling vehicles and 
moving lights, and smothered talk; and of the prepara- 
tion of food in the kitchen at late hours — ^food that had 
vanished when morning came. 

Dr. Quelch kept his counsel from the children who 
might have talked carelessly. Negroes would be brought 
to him after dark; he would house them in one of his 
buildings and comfort and clothe and feed them, and then 
hurry them onward to a distant point before dawn, to 
some other place still nearer to the North star, to free- 
dom, to manhood, to hope and to self-respect. Or, if 
the pursuit were not too eager, he would retain the hunted 
men, women and children for a day or two that they 
might have rest and healing while they lay shut in from 
all curious eyes and while the way was made ready for 
speeding them upon their journey. 

When Dr. Quelch lay dying this was the work of his 
well-spent life that filled him with happiest thoughts. 
This was the duty that would have seemed to him to have 


ii6 Captain Bluitt 

earned for him the right to the commendation “Well done 
good and faithful servant/’ if his humility had not far 
overborne any conception that he might have formed that 
duty done supplies any basis for a claim to reward or to 
honor. 

When we first meet him in this tale there were few 
persons in the region about Turley, no matter how many 
their years, who could remember when his face and figure 
had not been familiar to them. Out of doors he always 
wore a high silk hat, conformed to no remembered 
fashion, rusty, dusty, crumpled, and dilapidated. There 
was a common belief that it had been new during Presi- 
dent Jackson’s first administration, but its appearance 
offered evidence in behalf of the theory that it had been 
constructed much earlier in the centur3^ He seemed to 
have but one hat and rather fondly to cherish it; although 
the precise ground of his affection was a secret locked in 
his own bosom. 

He drove about upon the high-roads in a buggy which 
looked as if it had never been washed, but which despite 
its discouraging appearance, seemed so strong and ser- 
viceable that some persons, fond of considering such 
matters, advanced the opinion that Dr. Quelch had dis- 
covered the secret of perpetual youth and had imparted 
it to his buggy. No one could remember when that 
buggy had rolled along the turnpike without following a 
whitish-grey horse, covered all over with brownish spots 
and with an undocked tail upon which the hair was sparse. 
The horse also seemed to have learned never to grow 
old, and the manner in which he moved right along at a 
brisk trot without urging, for the doctor never used a 
whip, might have conveyed the idea to the observer that 
the horse was still young, had it not been that nobody 
ever saw^ the animal shy or bolt or engage in friskiness 
of any kind. 

Beneath the battered hat and the shaggy grey hair of 
Dr. Quelch, was a face covered with grey beard at a time 


Two Men of Turley uy 

when beards were rarely worn, and through his silver- 
rimmed spectacles beamed a pair of grey eyes, kindly, 
bright, piercing, shrewd, which no one could look into 
without feeling himself in the presence of a man of power, 
of high thought, of pure heart, of tender feeling. 

And so this man through all his long life had gone in 
and out among the people ministering to their bodies, 
comforting their souls and, better still, showing to them 
in his own person how high and noble and beautiful a 
human soul may be. 

Dr. Quelch was a religious man, of course, but he 
belonged to no church. Perhaps if his inner thought 
could have been known he would have been perceived to 
have preference for the gentle and beautiful system of the 
Society of Friends. But, without denying that the great 
cause can have most effective force given to it through 
the instrumentality of organization. Dr. Quelch had 
always felt that he could not with comfort and peace put 
upon him the obligation of any formula prepared by a 
religious society, nor pledge himself always to believe 
just as other men believe. How could he. tell, he had 
reflected, in what manner time and observation and ex- 
perience would compel him to change or modify his 
beliefs? and so for himself, he thought it wise to stand 
apart; or rather, to recognize all believers as his brethren, 
and in his own way, by the impulse supplied by his ex- 
ample, by the light shed from his own high life, to influ- 
ence those about him to strive for better things in their 
own lives. 


When Becky Slifer reached Dr. Quelch’s house, early 
in the evening of the day of her talk with Dr. Frobisher, 
Dr. Quelch was sitting, with a lighted lamp, in his little 
office upon the lawn, near-by the dwelling house. The 
doctor was writing. 

The office-floor was covered with well-worn furniture, 


1,8 Captain Bluitt 

with piles of books and pamphlets, and with geological 
specimens representing the formations of the region all 
about Turley. Around the walls were book-cases full to 
overflowing, and in an adjoining room were a sofa and 
appliances for operating upon patients. 

When Becky, after knocking upon the door of the 
office, went in, she courtesied to the physician and per- 
mitted a kindly look to come upon her fierce countenance. 

She knew the reputation of this man as the friend of 
the enslaved members of her race. She would have wor- 
shiped him or given her life for him if she had been called 
to perform the one act or the other. 

Dr. Quelch greeted her politely and asking her to sit 
down, leaned back in his chair: 

^T’se Becky Slifer, Dr. Quelch.” 

^'Becky Slifer! Well, Becky, what’s the matter?” 

'T’se bin a livin’ in Mister Bluitt’s house dese eight 
months or mo’, an’ now Miss Emmy, dat sez she owns 
me, is affer me.” 

^'Ran away from her, did you?” 

''Yes, suh, Miss Emmy Metcalf, down yer in de Ara- 
mingo country.” 

"Is she related to Mrs. Frobisher?” The doctor had 
heard much about the Metcalfs from Mrs. Frobisher. 

"Miss Emmy she’s married to de brudder o’ Miss 
F’obisher.” 

"And you ran away?” 

"Yes, suh. I won’t be de slave o’ no man or woman. 
An’ Miss Emmy she come to de house dis mawnin’ wid 
de minister an’ dey rassle an’ rassle wid me, a-sayin’ dem 
things from de Bible, an’ when I declar’ dat I sooner die 
dan go back, den Miss Emmy she get mad an’ say she 
make me go. But she won’t. Ef I can’t own myself den 
I’se a gwine to quit livin’.” 

"You are afraid she will have you arrested?” 

"Yes, suh. I’se not much ’fraid; but I doan wan’ no 


Two Men of Turley ug 

trouble, an Miss Puella she ^vised me to come an^ see 
you.” 

‘Hah said the doctor, reflecting’ on the situation. 

After a moment’s pause he said: 

“Very well, Becky. You want to stay with Miss Bluitt 
I suppose?” 

.“Yes, suh; I’se gwine to stay right dare!” 

“That is right. If there is any trouble I will help you. 
If you find that they are going to arrest you, come at once 
to my house. If they do seize you, get away if you can. 
If you can’t, have Rufus or some other person come for 
me as quick as possible.” 

“You’re werry kind, suh. I’ll let you know sure.” 

Becky rose to take her leave. 

“One moment,” said the doctor, as he turned a thought 
over in his mind. “I think you might say to Captain 
Bluitt that I will run over to see him about ten o’clock 
to-morrow morning. I don’t want to meddle with any- 
body in his household without speaking to him.” 

Becky opened the door and withdrew. 

“She looks to me,” said the doctor to himself, “like a 
woman who could do good service on the Underground 
Railroad. I will ask the captain about her.” 

When Dr. Quelch reached the Bluitt mansion on the 
following morning, he found the captain and his sister 
awaiting him, but all ready to go out. 

After greeting him cordially. Captain Bluitt said to 
the doctor: 

“Puella and I have been invited to go over this morn- 
ing to McCann’s to see his new wonderful electric motor, 
and we have promised to go. Won’t you go along?” 

Captain Bluitt smiled, as if to convey the impression 
that his faith in the McCann motor was not of the strong- 
est kind. 

“Electric motor, is it, that he has now?” said the doctor. 
“The last time I heard from him it was a submarine boat. 

“Yes,” replied the captain, “but didn’t you know that 


120 


Captain Bluitt 

the boat dived automatically over there off Graver’s Point, 
and never came up again?” 

'‘No,” replied the physician. “I hadn’t heard of it. 
Poor man ! I hope he will have better luck with this new 
invention.” 

“He is a very, very good man, I think,” said Puella, 
“even if he is unfortunate. Perhaps the boat will come 
up somewhere far out at sea, at the Azores, or in the 
Gulf Stream.” 

“Yes, he is a good man,” said Dr. Quelch, “but not 
completely a wise man. I should like to go over with 
you, to see the motor; but I called to ask you about your 
servant, Becky. She came to my house last night to 
ask me to help her to escape being carried back into 
slavery.” 

“I advised her to go to see you,” said Puella. “She is 
a first-rate servant, perfectly harmless and with really a 
great gift for waffles and clear-starching; and yet Mrs. 
Metcalf actually threatened to whip her.” 

“I want to say, doctor,” remarked Captain Bluitt, “that 
while I don’t wish to encourage runaway slaves, we like 
this girl, and I shouldn’t be sorry to have her kept from 
being forced to go back to the place and the thing she 
hates. If you can help her you have my approval, and 
she can stay here or go with you, which ever way is best 
for her or will suit your plans. She is as smart as a 
lawyer. Dr. Frobisher had as much as he could do to 
hold his own in an argument with her yesterday. She is 
a remarkable woman, Becky is.” 

“Very well,” said the doctor. “It will be better to have 
her remain in your house until a movement is made to 
take her. Perhaps they will let her alone, after all.” 

The three then left the house, and walked up the street 
and around the corner beyond the Presbyterian Church 
to the place where McGann lived, on the border of the 
town, on the road that led away to the hills that filled the 
western horizon. 


121 


Two Men of Turley 

Irwin McGann had had such variet}^ of occupation as 
seems to come only to Americans. In his youth he had 
been a school-teacher, but his good nature and his in- 
vincible propensity to permit his mind to drift of¥ into 
dream-land while the boys were reciting their lessons, 
brought to an early and ignominious end his career as 
a pedagogue; and he then borrowed some money and 
sarted a grocery-store in Turley. He had no acquaint- 
ance with the right methods of conducting that business 
or any other business; and so, when he had sold goods 
upon credit to every family in the neighborhood that was 
unworthy of credit, and had lost his money and that of the 
wholesale dealers from whom he had bought supplies 
upon long time, he withdrew from the pursuits of com- 
merce, and began to publish a newspaper. The Turley 
Weekly Herald, which, after endeavoring for six months 
without any perceptible indications of success to reform 
the human race, was sold out by the sheriff to satisfy the 
claim of a paper-mill. 

Mr. McGann then became a surveyor, and for three 
years engaged in the work of laying boundary-lines in 
and around Turley with such amiable and well-meaning 
disregard of the accuracy of angles and base-lines as 
threw the property into disorder from which ten years of 
expert effort and four law-suits hardly succeeded in dis- 
entangling it. 

But everybody, except the property-owners and the 
wholesale grocers, felt sorry for McGann — he was such 
an innocent old lamb of a fellow, with no malice in his 
heart for anybody; with such clearly demonstrated ina- 
bility to take care of himself; and so the Turley Whigs 
took him up as their candidate for Justice of the Peace. 
He was elected by an almost unanimous vote, and entered 
upon his duties apparently with the conviction that Mercy 
is much more useful than Justice, as he certainly thought 
it much more agreeable; so he could never find it in his 
heart to inflict a penalty upon any offender brought into 


122 


Captain Bluitt 

his court, if the justice’s ingenuity could discover a 
method by which the prisoner could be permitted to 
escape. 

Every vagabond who lived in Turley or happened to 
stray into Turley thought Judge McGann the most de- 
lightful Justice of the Peace in the state; and many of 
them were indebted to him for small loans representing 
important fragments of a very small salary. For a man 
who was expecting to have a fine imposed upon him, 
or to be sent to prison, it was like making a trip into 
Fairy-Land to have the justice look down with pitying 
eye on the rascal’s tatters and incrustations and to have 
the magistrate call him up to the seat of justice and hand 
him a dollar bill and say to him: “Go and sin no more!” 

The judicial career of McGann concluded when war 
was declared against Mexico. He began at once to raise 
a company, which elected him captain, and his friends 
made up a fund which equipped him with a handsome 
uniform and a beautiful sword. 

The judge never could maintain discipline in his com- 
mand, but, somehow or other, he led it bravely into the 
fight at Chepultepec and he came home crowned with 
glory and with four months’ pay in his pocket. 

The entire tramp-population of the county wanted to 
have him made Justice again; but the rest of the people 
preferred that he should seek some occupation in which 
good nature would have less harmful consequences. 

After thinking the matter over, the judge concluded 
that he had a call to preach the Gospel, and so he applied 
to the authorities of the Presbyterian Church for permis- 
sion to enter a theological seminary and study for the 
ministry. The authorities, when they had patiently ex- 
amined the matter, reached the conclusion that the judge 
must have mistaken some other kind of spiritual vocal- 
ization for a “call.” They were perfectly clear that the 
pulpit could profitably do without him. Upon further 
contemplation of the subject, the judge frankly admitted 


Two Men of Turley 123 

that he must have been mistaken, and dropping on Tues- 
day all thought of going into the ministry, he began work 
on a perpetual-motion machine on Wednesday. 

Since that time all his powers had been dedicated to 
the great work of Invention. 

At the back of his garden-lot McGann had a work-shop 
which he called his studio. It was a small frame build- 
ing, one story high. Here he spent his time, excepting 
when he was out in the garden experimenting with some 
machine for which he required space, or was engaged in 
organizing companies. 

Beneath a shed adjoining the studio he had a boiler 
with a fire-chamber under it. This supplied steam to a 
small horizontal engine within the studio. 

This boiler was an object of interest to the people of 
the neighborhood; and perhaps that is a mild statement of 
the fact. Nobody knew how old it was. It had belonged 
to a saw-mill before it was employed in the tannery where 
Judge McGann had bought it for a low price at an auction 
when the tannery went into the hands of a receiver. It 
had no safety-valve and while there was a glass water- 
gauge, no water had appeared in it for several years. 

McGann often filled the boiler in the morning, turned 
on steam, banked the fire and let the engine run along for 
hours, while he was absent. Persons who lived near-by 
felt that it might at any moment go whirling through the 
air. Some timid people moved further into town because 
of the judge’s boiler and rents in the vicinity of it had a 
marked downward tendency. 

When the judge was remonstrated with about it, he 
always said: 

“That boiler! Why, man alive, that is the safest boiler 
in the state! You can’t generate steam enough to ex- 
plode that boiler.” 

And really there appeared to be some solid ground 
for this confidence. The judge’s steam-plant, as he called 


/ 


124 


Captain Bluitt 

it, had long engaged the curious interest of men who 
were familiar with steam-practice. 

The engineer over at the shod factory in the Third 
Ward said that if McCann’s boiler had been employed 
in a mill of any importance, where an explosion would 
damage property and destroy life, it would have been 
blown into scrap-iron years ago. His view was that it 
was simply waiting for a good chance. 

Another expert, the mechanical engineer of the rolling 
mill down at Donovan, said that McCann’s boiler had so 
completely undermined the ordinary theories about steam 
boilers that all his convictions, based upon life-long prac- 
tice, were shaken, and he was prepared to believe any- 
thing — even that there was in it an element of the super- 
natural. 

There was a boiler-insurance and inspection company 
up in the city that, out of mere curiosity, sent one of its 
most competent inspectors down to Turley to look at the 
boiler one day when the judge had no steam on because 
he was going down to Washington to push a slow claim 
in the Patent Office. 

After a careful study of the matter, the inspector said 
that the reason why the water would not flow from the 
cocks or appear in the glass gauge was that the interior 
of the entire boiler was encrusted to the thickness of 
three or four inches with solid scale. All the openings 
were blocked but the inlet valve and the outlet. 

In his written report, which was printed in the monthly 
bulletin of the company just for the fun of the thing, the 
inspector said that the boiler did not explode because the 
scale had gradually formed a new solid stone-boiler in- 
side of the iron plates, and that, in all probability, the 
original iron casing ultimately would slowly oxidize and 
pass away, leaving the stone-boiler safe and sound and in 
quite a serviceable condition for many years to come. 

In fact, he considered it well within the boundaries of 
reasonable probability that the interior stone-boiler might 


Two Men of Turley 125 

be regarded as practically indestructible, and that, when 
our present civilization had been forgotten, McCann’s 
boiler would be exhumed and presented to the genera- 
tions then upon the earth as demonstrating in a remark- 
able manner the ingenuity of man in adopting stone to 
boiler-uses in a remotely antecedent period. 

But the judge did not mind. He glanced at the article 
carelessly; and then firing the boiler afresh, he set to 
work upon his lathe, turning up a new cylinder for his 
submarine boat. 


Judge McCann was delighted to see Captain and Miss 
Bluitt coming down the garden on the morning of the 
visit, and his pleasure was intensified by the presence of 
Dr. Quelch. He ran from the studio and shook hands 
with his friends, and said to the doctor: 

“I am so glad you came too. I have something to 
show you that will make you open your eyes.” 

^‘Your motor?” said the doctor. 

‘‘Yes, sir! The greatest invention of this or any other 
country! But wait ’till you see it! Come in and sit down 
a bit while we are getting steam up. I didn’t start the fire 
under my boiler until a little while ago.” 

The party entered the outer room of the studio build- 
ing, and while the judge placed Miss Bluitt on the only 
whole chair and asked Captain Bluitt to occupy the nail- 
keg and Dr. Quelch to sit on a box, he blew the dust 
from a work-bench and leaped upon it, letting his legs 
dangle. 

“We shall be ready in a few minutes,” he said. “It 
was mighty nice of you to come to see me, particularly 
you. Miss Puella; and you won’t regret your kindness. I 
have a motor here that is going to put half the steam 
engines in the world in the scrap-heap ! You’ll see! I’ve 
had pretty tough luck in this life, but the luck has turned.” 

“How delightful,” said Miss Bluitt. 


126 


Captain Bluitt 

'There is no danger from that boiler, out there, is 
there?” asked the captain, half in fun, half in earnest. 

"Not a particle! Not a particle! There’s no safer 
boiler between here and Texas. How foolish some 
people are! There is more reason to be afraid of a tea- 
kettle than of that boiler.” 

‘T am not a bit afraid of it,” said Puella. 

"Of course not!” answered the judge. "Ladies always 
do have more courage than men!” 

"You have had many inventions, judge, since I knew 
you,” said Dr. Quelch. 

"Yes, lots of ’em, and some good ones too,” responded 
McGann. "That is my line. I made a big mistake ever 
going into any other business.” 

"What became of that Electrical Poultry-Feeder you 
had when I first knew you?” asked Dr. Quelch. 

"Couldn’t make it go, somehow. I never understood 
why. That device certainly was constructed upon correct 
scientific and economical principles and it would have 
been a boon to the poultry industry of our country. You 
remember the particulars?” 

"No.” 

"Why, you see, when men raise poultry for profit, 
either for eggs or meat, they must keep the fowls in some 
kind of an enclosure and must feed them regularly, in just 
the right quantities, with nourishing food. Mustn’t 
they?” 

"Of course.” 

"Mere humanity demands it,” said Miss Puella. 

"Well, my device arranged to do this service auto- 
matically. You know I had a battery outside the pen, 
connected by a wire with the feeder. This was suspended 
from a bar or a vertical pole in the chicken-yard and it 
swung loose on a kind of a swivel. The main feeder was 
a hopper with a spout at the bottom and delivery-valves 
which opened and shut by a time-clock regulated by the 
current. Worked like a charm!” 


Two Men of Turley 


127 


“You put the invention in place; had the hired man 
fill up the hopper in the morning with prepared food, the 
food being inserted in the hopper in layers— say, first, 
some corn, then a layer of small gravel— (used in the 
gizzard you know); then another layer perhaps of bread- 
crumbs; then another of powdered oyster-shells for the 
then a dab or two of sulphur; then more corn, and 
so on; all packed snug and good in the hopper.” 

“I see,” said the doctor. 

“Now all being ready, the hired man turned on the 
current and went away. The feeder didn’t even require 
watching.” 

“What happened.^” asked the physician. 

“Why, the feeder slowly swung around, the exhaust- 
valve opened and threw a quantity of food, strictly grad- 
uated quantity of nutriment, far over, say to, the eastern 
side of the yard. Then, as the fowls would fly thither to 
get it, the valve would automatically shut and the feeder, 
with almost human intelligence, would stop, start on the 
other circuit and very, very slowly swing around, and 
after a carefully calculated interval, provided for by the 
clock-work, would fling another lot of food over, say 
to the western side of the yard.” 

“How convenient!” said Puella. 

“Why to the west?” 

“To give the chickens exercise. Being penned up, 
they will stand around on one leg or roost on boards and 
things unless there is some incentive to motion. My 
feeder not only provided them with food upon scientific 
principles, preventing all waste, but also compelled the 
otherwise inert fowls to keep their bodies in a healthful 
condition by continued athletic exercise. It was the best 
thing for chickens ever devised by man.” 

“And yet it didn’t succeed?” asked Dr. Quelch. 

“No, the company formed to market it failed.” 

“What was the matter?” 


28 


Captain Bluitt 

^‘Idunno! Bad management, I guess. Spite-work too, 
I suppose. A newspaper in New York in which I refused 
to advertise came out with a pretended demonstration 
that the interest on the cost of the plant, the expense for 
one year of running the battery and the wages of the hired 
man to run the hopper would take more money than the 
eggs and the chickens together would bring in the market 
for ten years. He didn’t prove it, of course; but the 
^ figures impressed large investors and they grew shy. So 
the thing failed.” 

'‘Perfectly shameful!” said Miss Bluitt. 

“What was the loss to you?” asked Captain Bluitt, 
sympathetically. 

“O, I don’t remember. A good deal. I paid for the 
patents and I got nothing from the company but ground- 
floor stock; and my first year’s salary as President was 
all paid in preferred stock. I suppose I may say I lost 
somewhere near two or three thousand dollars. But no 
matter, I charged it off.” 

“Charged it off? Where, to what?” asked Dr. Quelch. 

“Just charged it off — to nowhere. It was sunk — gone, 
call it what you please — I let it go. It was not the first 
time.” 

“No?” 

“No. I have paid for taking out forty-three patents and 
I have seven applications now pending. I have lost on 
forty of the patents — I don’t know how much, but it is all 
charged off and now I am making a fresh start.” 

“You have abandoned that shell-fish enterprise?” 
asked Captain Bluitt. 

“Why yes! Didn’t you hear about that? Bottom fell 
out of that too. I must have charged off a thousand 
dollars on that.” 

“Couldn’t you get the right kind of oysters?” asked 
the captain. 

“Not oysters, crabs! I never had anything more 
promising. All along the salt-water coast there are crabs 


129 


Two Men of Turley 

by the thousands of millions, to be had for the taking. 
Literally myriads of them and all good to eat; while in 
the West there are millions of people who never see a 
crab. My idea was to build refrigerator cars and run 
them direct from the shore to the western markets ; quick 
transit. When I began operations I should simply have 
flooded the Northwest with crabs; the great Northwest! 
Think of the farmers out there who never get a sniff or 
a smell of salt-water food and here would be these deli- 
cious crustaceans dropped at their very doorways as 
sweet and nice as if they had just been taken from the 
sea, and for a merely nominal price! Why, a man in 
Chicago told me he himself would engage to sell one 
carload of crabs in that single city every day. The people 
would be perfectly wild for them! We should have sent 
agents all through the West and mailed free cook-books 
to teach the people how to make devil ed-crabs and crab- 
salad. We had everything ready for a great crab-cam- 
paign all through the Northwest.” 

“A perfect boon to the West!” said Miss Bluitt. 

“Why didn’t it go?” inquired Dr. Quelch. 

“The railroads combined against it. They are the 
worst enemies of this country. The government ought 
to seize and run them. One railroad president refused to 
give me transportation for my refrigerator cars, and, 
when hard pushed for a reason — ^when I drove him into 
a corner and pinned him down, he actually had the nerve 
to tell me that the cars would leak and wet the track! 
Finally, when I overcame all his objections he gave me 
a rate to Milwaukee that didn’t leave me enough margin 
to pay for the ice. I could have got fair play if I had 
given ground-floor shares to some of the railroad direc- 
tors, and the thing would have gone through; but I would 
rather be poor than to stoop to bribery. ' My total loss 
in that deal amounted to the value of two refrigerator 
cars which I charged to profit and loss.” 

“You’ve had hard luck,” said Dr. Quelch. 

9 


130 Captain Bluitt 

“Yes indeed; worse luck with my Power-Saving device 
even, than I had with the crab-enterprise/^ 

“ I heard about that,” said Captain Bluitt. 

“You remember, don’t you? I know — I don’t think, I 
know, or almost know, that the water that comes down a 
hill can be made, not only to do work for a mill, but to 
pump itself back again. The only obstacle that ever 
existed to such recovery of the spent-force was the fric- 
tion, and I invented an arrangement that annihilated 
friction — that’s the word — annihilated it; the friction was 
as if it were not.” 

“With my compensating balance and my self-adjusting 
gravity-gear I’ll bet you I can make Niagara pump itself 
back again. Think of that!” 

“Wouldn’t it be delightful,” said Miss Bluitt, “to have 
Niagara pumped back again?” 

“But, just as I had my charter and was about to issue 
my prospectus, a fool of a professor in the Polytechnic 
College killed the thing with algebra! There was nothing 
in his demonstration, of course ; but you know how it is : 
capital is timid, sensitive and scary; and so the money 
was pulled out and the company collapsed, after I had 
put my little all in gear-wheels and suction-rods which 
are now nothing but old iron. Too bad! You know 
Mrs. Frobisher subscribed for a hundred dollars’ worth of 
stock and paid up. Her money had to be spent for sight- 
lubric-ators and when the failure occurred she came at me 
like a wild-cat and said I ought to be put in prison. Dr. 
Frobisher preached a sermon which they said was aimed 
at me, on the text: “He that maketh haste to be rich 
shall not be innocent.” I’ve hastened to be rich, haven’t 
I? I’d be hastening to the poor-house now if it were not 
for my Electric Motor.” 

“Mrs. Frobisher,” remarked Miss Bluitt,” is wanting 
in feeling.” 

“I thought until yesterday,” said the captain, “that you 
were still engaged in promoting a Smoke-Consumer?” 


Two Men of Turley ij, 

O, my Smoke-Consumer! Ah! there was a grand 
thing! One of the most useful inventions ever devised 
by man! I do seem to have the worst luck! Of course 
you heard of that failure?” 

'‘No, I thought it was successful,” said the captain. 

“So it was, mechanically; but not commercially; that 
is, not in my hands. I worked on that idea right along 
the lines suggested more than a century ago by Benjamin 
Franklin, and I prepared a furnace that would have 
forced perfect combustion — not a bit of smoke from the 
softest coal. Now, doctor, when you remember that every 
particle of smoke that comes from a chimney is fuel and 
stands for dollars ; and when you think of the waste going 
on only in great cities like London you can see for your- 
self that there is big money in a successful smoke-con- 
sumer, let alone the advantage to be derived from keep- 
ing the atmosphere clear and clean.” 

“Of course,” said Dr. Quelch. 

“Well, I had my company actually organized and all 
going along nicely. One day we arranged for a trial of 
the furnace in the presence of a great body of experts 
and mill-owners, and particularly of a committee of the 
Institute of Science. I lighted the fire, turned on the 
draught and in two minutes there was an explosion which 
shook the foundations of the everlasting hills. I could 
not imagine what was the matter, but the crowd of experts 
scattered, and any manufacturer in the state would as 
lief have put nitro-glycerine in his mill to start with as 
to adopt my Smoke-Consumer. But I know now what 
was the matter and it was no fault of the machine, either.” 

“What was it?” asked the captain. 

“I feel morally certain — I can’t prove it in a court of 
justice, of course— but I am morally certain that Hun- 
sicker, the Vice-President of the company, put a charge 
of gunpowder into the flue behind the grate-bars.” 

“What for?” inquired Captain Bluitt. 

“He had been all around trying to buy up a majority 


,32 Captain Bluitt 

of the stock but had failed. When this disaster occurred 
most of the holders were ready to give it to him; some 
of them would have paid him to take it away. He got 
possession of 95 per cent, of the stock, froze me out; 
made another public experiment with brilliantly success- 
ful results; got a certificate from the Institute of Science 
and a gold medal and written testimonials from thirty- 
four prominent manufacturers. He now has branch 
agencies in every state and in Mexico and has an auxil- 
iary company in Great Britain. But where am I? Out! 
That’s where I am. I wouldn’t have taken a hundred 
thousand dollars for that patent, but I never got a cent, 
except what I had to charge off.” 

^‘Well, you have had hard luck; and now you are work- 
ing on an Electric Motor?” asked Dr. Quelch. 

“You may say working on it, if you want to put it in 
that way; but, in fact, the thing is practically completed. 
I will show it to you right away. Come in here.” 

The judge ushered his friends into the adjoining room, 
in the centre of which stood the Motor. Over in the 
corner was a machine which would now be recognized 
as a dynamo. The judge called it his “generator.” It 
was attached by a belt to the steam-engine. 

“Stand over here,” he said, “and I will turn the steam 
into the engine.” 

The engine began to move, and soon the generator also 
gave signs of motion and emitted sparks. 

“Don’t mind that,” said the inventor, as Miss Bluitt, 
in spite of the fact that she was a woman, edged over 
towards the window. “It is nothing. It always does 
that.” 

The judge put his hand on a switch. 

“Now watch the Motor,” he said. 

The visitors fixed their eyes on the Motor, and the 
judge slowly turned the switch. There was no indication 
that the Motor was capable of anything but complete 
torpidity, The judge pushed the switch further over. 


Two Men of Turley ,^3 

Still the Motor remained inactive. Then he pulled and 
pushed the switch backwards and forwards several times, 
with some violence; but without response from the 
Motor. 

The judge looked troubled. He reflected for a moment. 
Then he exclaimed: 

'‘O, I forgot the current-regulator.” 

He fixed the current-regulator to his satisfaction and 
returned to the switch. The Motor appeared to be com- 
pletely indifferent to a great number of energetic vibra- 
tions of that implement. 

McGann let go of the switch, turned on more steam, 
speeded up the engine, and with a wrench tightened three 
screws in the generator. Then he put a wooden box 
under the feed-wire, which drooped upon the floor, and 
returned to the switch. The Motor manifested no indi- 
cation of activity. 

‘‘Captain,” said the inventor, “just see if that wire on 
the other side of the Motor is free from the iron pedestal.” 

“Completely,” said the captain, touching the wire with 
his cane. 

“It’s mighty queer,” said McGann, with a puzzled look 
upon his face. “The thing went all right last night. 
Went beautifully.” 

The visitors hardly knew what to say. 

“I believe it’s that commutator,” said Judge McGann, 
at last. “I’ve had no end of trouble with that plagued; 
thing. Just a minute, please.” 

For at least five minutes the judge struggled with 
the commutator, and then, wiping his fingers on a hand- 
ful of shavings, he resumed his hold of the switch, saying: 

“Now she’ll go.” 

And she did go. Slowly the Motor began to move, 
and having made three complete revolutions, it came 
again to a full stop. 

“Maybe the bearings want oiling,” remarked the judge. 
Seizing the oil-can he applied the lubricant to the bear- 


134 Captain Bluitt 

ings. Then he looked to see if the belt on the generator 
slipped and after taking a twist out of the feed-wire, he 
turned on the current again. 

The Motor gave a slight preliminary jerk, and then, 
like a being that had a better second thought, returned 
to a state of quiescence. 

‘Tt seems such a pity, too,” remarked Judge McGann, 
mournfully, “when you have all taken the trouble to come 
out to see it.” 

“Can’t you turn it with your hand?” asked Puella, with 
a feeling of acute sympathy for the disappointed man. 

“O, certainly; but a Motor turned by the hand would 
be such a very poor kind of a Motor. It’s always the way 
with things when you want to show them off,” said the 
judge. “That machine went along yesterday as if it were 
alive. Let me look at the reciprocating crank. Why 
yes, that’s what’s the matter! I put a wooden block under 
that crank when I closed the place last night, and forgot 
it. Now she’ll go.” 

The judge removed the block and flung it to the other 
end of the room with such violence that it knocked a 
saw and two cold chisels from the rack and dropped them 
on the floor. Then he put the switch on once more, and 
the Motor went around twice. Then something spit and 
sizzled and flamed up with a quick flash, and the Motor 
stopped again. 

With an expression of intense disgust upon his coun- 
tenance the judge dropped the switch and exclaimed: 

“Burned out again! Hang it!” 

Then he kicked the Motor with a degree of violence 
and said: 

“That ends it doctor! I can’t repair that damage in 
less than a week.” 

The visitors expressed sorrow and sympathy. 

“O, it’s all right; but the plague of it is, captain,” said 
the judge, “I was going to ask you to invest in that 


Two Men of Turley 

thing, and now youTl think it’s a failure! But it isn’t! 
No, sir! It’s a gold mine.” 

“You won’t have to charge it off, you think?” asked 
the captain, with dry humor. 

What! that Motor? Wait ’till I get it fixed and you’ll 
say that the man who goes in on the g-round-floor is 
lucky.” 

Well, said Captain Bluitt, as he and his companions 
prepared to retire, “you send for me when it is ready and 
I’ll talk to you about it.” 

The visitors went out into the garden, but the captain 
said to McGann: 

“One minute, judge.” 

He took the inventor aside and whispered: 

“Are you pressed for money, judge?” 

“Well,” said McGann, “I’ve got pretty close to the 
end of the string. I wouldn’t mind — ” 

“I’ll send you a check for fifty dollars in the morning 
on account of my first subscription to the Motor.” 

Then, bidding farewell, the visitors started homeward. 

“Poor McGann,” said the captain to tHe doctor. “He’s 
got another failure on his hands, sure!” 


CHAPTER IX 

Temptation 

B ut the time came when McCann’s Electric Motor 
as a matter of fact actually at last did go; and 
this really seemed not unimportant, for a motor 
that refuses to go surely lacks one of the essen- 
tials of efficiency. 

Just how long it would go, and how fast it would go, 
and what the cost would be of making it go, were matters 
yet to be conclusively determined; but the judge had a 
right to feel much encouraged by the measure of success 
that had attended his efforts and to claim that if the 
soundness of his theories had this much experimental 
demonstration he was warranted in believing that further 
application of his inventive powers would enable him to 
bring the motor somewhere near to perfection. 

The judge liked to exhibit to his friends, particularly 
those who might have money to invest, the device in 
operation; but he was judicious enough to retain in his 
own mind the principles upon which he had constructed 
the motor and the details of the various appliances. He 
had secured no patents, for the excellent reason that 
the funds required for that purpose were not at that 
moment available. His hope was either to find a partner 
who had capital, or to organize a company which should 
undertake the task of promoting the new invention. 

One of his visitors was John Hamilton, cashier of the 
bank, whose connection with a financial institution was 
supposed by McGann to give him important and influ- 
ential relations with capitalists, and, besides, to the mind 
of McGann, whose fiscal operations conducted single- 
(136) 


Temptation 137 

handed had always issued in disaster, there was some- 
thing imposing in the very presence of a man whose 
business was to deal in money and who was an officer 
of a highly successful financial institution. 

Hamilton came to the studio by invitation and with 
some curiosity to see a device of which he had heard not 
a little from various people who had been impressed by 
the very large claims made for the Motor by McCann 
himself. 

At the time of the cashier’s visit, he and the inventor 
had the studio to themselves. On that day the Motor 
was really in fine condition. It started when the switch 
was turned; all the belts and wires gave good service, 
the reciprocating crank did its very best, the oil cups 
dripped with precision, and the engine and the petrifac- 
tion out in the shed which passed for a boiler responded 
efficiently to every demand made upon them. 

There could be no doubt about it. McCann not only 
generated electricity, but he had contrived so as to apply 
the subtle power thus produced as to give powerful im- 
petus to a separate machine. 

John Hamilton’s mind was quick enough to perceive 
at once, without suggestion from the inventor, some of 
the possibilities thus indicated, but McCann could not 
resist the impulse to speak upon a subject about which 
he had been thinking and dreaming for many months. 

^‘You see, Mr. Hamilton,” he said, “that the thing 
moves; not slowly or reluctantly, but with high speed. 
There is energy behind it, strong, potential force, equal 
to almost any duty you can impose upon it.” 

“All you do see, however, is this wheel going ’round 
and ’round without accomplishing anything but revolu- 
tion. But, Mr. Hamilton, imagine if you can what that 
will mean when the force shall be applied to practical 
uses!” 

“You can generate the force here in this room with 
this steam engine, but you can carry it upon a wire out 


138 Captain Bluitt 

over any reasonable distance and apply it to the pro- 
pulsion of vehicles or of machinery. That means, first 
of all, that you will live to see the day when cars and 
carriages will run without locomotives or horses and run 
with velocity that can be increased clear up to the out- 
side edge of safety!” 

“Yes, sir; this machine means death to the locomotive 
and the cheapening, and therefore the great multiplica- 
tion, of methods of transportation.” 

“It looks like that,” said Hamilton. 

“More than that: I have used a steam engine to pro- 
duce the electrical force, because the engine is handy. 
I could just as well have employed water-power, if I had 
had one within reach. Another result of the invention, 
therefore, must be to give new value to every water- 
power, great and small, in the country, with reduction 
in such cases of the cost of running the Motor. If I can 
succeed, as I think I can, in conveying the power over 
considerable distances without sensible loss, you may 
put your mill or your factory in the town and operate it 
with power that is away off yonder in those hills, so the 
mill can remain near to the people and the railroad while 
having all the advantages of proximity to natural sources 
of power.” 

“That appears reasonable, at any rate,” said Hamilton. 

“Yes, and I believe I can also use this electrical current 
for producing light. I have not experimented in that 
direction yet, for various reasons. For one thing I know 
I shall have trouble to perfect a satisfactory kind of 
burner; but if I don’t do it, you may depend some other 
man will find a way to transform that energy into light 
and to give to street illumination such splendor as will 
make gas-lamps appear ridiculous.” 

“And you want money to work with, don’t you?” 

“It didn’t require much ingenuity to guess that. I 
haven’t enough to buy fuel for my boiler. For two weeks 
I have been burning my fence-palings. I can’t afford to 


Temptation 

pay for my patents, and I owe more than I like to think 
of for all this machinery, much of which I was not able 
to make for myself— hadn’t the necessary tools.” 

‘‘Your idea is to sell part of your patent-rights?” 

Yes, sir. 1 11 go halves in the invention with any 
good man who will put up the money I must have.” 

“How much?” 

“Well, to pay all I owe and to start the thing any- 
where near right, I should get at least ten thousand 
dollars.” 

“It is a big sum.” 

“Yes, I know, but if this thing is once presented to the 
public for inspection you can more than double your 
money.” 

“Better sell it to a company,” said Hamilton. 

“Exactly! The two owners could form a company, 
selling enough stock for cash to make them comfortable 
and holding the remainder on a ground-floor basis to 
permit them to have control. Mr. Hamilton I don’t have 
to tell a man like you that it will make us both rich.” 

“Certainly it looks promising. Yes, I like the look 
of it, McGann. I will think the thing over and see if I 
can get the money for you. I understand that you will 
hold it open ’till you hear from me?” 

“Very well, if you say so.” 

“I will let you know within a few days. But do not 
say to any one please that I have the matter in hand.” 

Hamilton took another look at the Motor, bade fare- 
well to the elated inventor, and went away. 

As he walked slowly towards his home he considered 
if he should not try to discover some method by which 
he could acquire a share in the assured profits of 
McCann’s manifestly wonderful invention. 

He had long been dissatisfied with the unpromising 
condition of his circumstances. In the bank he was sur- 
rounded by men who had acquired wealth in greater and 
less degrees. He heard their talk, he witnessed their 


140 Captain Bluitt 

manifest satisfaction with their success; he was familiar 
with the nature of some of their triumphant ventures; he 
knew the dimensions of their bank-accounts, and it 
seemed to him as he regarded the men themselves that 
they were not in any particular his superiors. 

When, at the directors’ meetings, they diverged some- 
times from the business before them, and discussed their 
large private enterprises, the cashier had a feeling that 
he was neglected; that there was a charmed circle into 
which he could not enter; that some of the men had a 
certain measure of disdain in their attitude towards him, 
as if these were matters that of course he could have 
no interest in. 

This feeling, born of his imagination, produced vexa- 
tion and anger. His salary seemed pitiful compared with 
the sums spent by these men and fully known to him; 
and the salary became no larger, whilst one of the most 
familiar incidents of the Board meetings was the boastful 
reference by one or the other of the members to lucky 
ventures that had been made. 

If he should die, he reflected, his wife and daughter 
would have almost nothing. When the salary stopped, 
the dwelling-house alone would remain. What would 
become of that delicate mother and of the daughter? He 
could not bear to think of the girl flung out into the 
rough world to make her way; and what could she find 
to do that would give to her bread enough for mother 
and child? 

This thought had been often in his mind as he grew 
older and as other men of his years passed away, some 
of them suddenly, just as he might go. There was some 
hope that the fair girl might marry where there was 
wealth; but nobody that seemed at all suitable in that 
and other particulars could be perceived in or any where 
near to Turley, and the chance was always present that 
Dorry might fancy a poor man, and so, perhaps, make 
the fortunes of the family worse rather than better. 


Temptation ,4, 

With this praiseworthy solicitude for the welfare of his 
dear ones, there came to him sometimes an ignoble feel- 
ing of bitterness as he contrasted his own situation with 
that of some of his neighbors. The most prosperous 
people lived upon the street overlooking the river — “the 
Bank’' was the phrase employed to designate the locality, 
and there was in Hamilton’s mind very often some traces 
of envy of those who were able to live in the favored 
neighborhood. He would have been half ashamed to 
admit to himself that he had such a sentiment, but it 
was there, and now and then it was intensified as he 
walked along the river street and saw the handsome 
houses, or watched the vehicles drawn by fine horses 
dashing by him, or halting to take up the rich folks who 
lived there. 

His fate was to walk, or to drive his wife and daughter 
out sometimes in a rather shabby hired wagon which 
really seemed shabbier and less respectable than it was 
when he encountered some of his neighbors riding in 
their elegant equipages. 

Yes, he was dissatisfied. His house was pretty and 
comfortable and not very small, and his garden was 
lovely in the summer time; but the house was not on 
the Bank, and the rooms would have been much nicer 
if they had been larger, and the furniture was rather 
worn; and upon the whole it seemed to him that Fate 
had not been fair to him. He should have the same kind 
of opportunities that come to other men. 

Did it not really appear as he looked at McCann’s 
Motor that one had come, at last, to him? 

So far as he could perceive, in his ignorance of 
mechanical things, the Motor fulfilled all the require- 
ments of such a device, and looking at the promise 
afforded by its operation — looking at it dispassionately, 
there seemed no reason for doubting that it would ac- 
complish all the large results indicated by McCann in 
his talk. He knew men who had gone into enterprises not 


142 


Captain Bluitt 

nearly so hopeful as this one, and had become rich. If 
he refused McCann’s offer, or if he were unable to accept 
it, he felt sure some other man would invest in the pro"- 
ject Then he would spend the rest of his life, still upon 
a salary, still in his narrow home, in regretting that he 
had not been bold enough to launch his ship while the 
tide for once — only once — was at the flood. 

“The difference,” he said to himself, “between the man 
who succeeds and the man who misses success, as I have 
done, is, after all, that one has courage to accept risks 
while the other is a coward. Anybody can invest in cer- 
tainties, but the brave man must take chances when the 
prize is great.’- 

He allowed his imagination to play with the possibil- 
ities of exploitation of the Motor. It was not worth while 
to employ any figures, but he could see the money rolling 
in for him and for McCann. The company would want a 
financial officer and he would fill the place, at a large 
salary, a very large salary considering that the company 
would be rich; and he would sit there, not a hired man 
to take orders; but as one of the largest stockholders to 
give orders, to shape policies, to put a masterful hand to 
the business that should be done. 

He would build a large house on the Bank and drive 
his own horses and keep a man and several house-ser- 
vants and do many other things that he had been want- 
ing all his life to do. 

Then the thought came to him that this kind of long- 
ing did not harmonize very well with some of the lessons 
he had been teaching of late to the young men in his 
Bible class at the Presbyterian Church. He remembered 
how impressive he had been in his explanation that the 
Rich Fool in the Parable was indeed a fool and in urging 
the young men not to worship Mammon. He was 
startled for a moment as he observed the sharp difference 
between his doctrine and the present condition of his 
own mind; “but,” he said, “after all, a man must in some 


Temptation ,4^ 

ateutri^h “yhow, those theories 

about rich men appear to be a good deal strained. There 

have been plenty of really pious men of large wealth - and 
besides, I will have a chance to help the church and to 
he^ poor people far beyond anything that I now have ” 

Tt U 1^°"" ‘he question! 

It is not worth while to go a-dreaming. As usual, at the 

T7 consideration presents itself, hard 

and stubborn. The one requirement of the situation is— 
the money. 

Part of the sum required could be had, he thought, by 
putting a mortgage on his house. He could easily carry 
the interest until the dividends of the motor company 
began to come in. But, he thought again, part of the 
money is not enough, and then the house belonged to 
IS wife. He dreaded to present this speculative enter- 
prise to her. Somehow he felt that it would not appear 
to her mind to be as alluring as it seemed to him. Women 
^ u unused to business, so emotional until 

they have to deal with money, and then so cold and 
practical; and short-sighted, too! 

No, the mortgage plan would not do. 

Perhaps he could borrow upon his own note from 
some of his rich acquaintances. Captain Bluitt, for ex- 
ample. But upon reflection it appeared unlikely that 
they would consent to risk so much in a venture of such 
a kind without outright security; and, if he should pre- 
sent the proposition to a friend, the friend might step in 
and make the investment for himself. 

Why not simply take the money from the bank? 
Hamilton was conscious that that thought had been 
lurking somewhere in the recesses of his mind from the 
beginning, but he had tried to suppress it, to keep it 
back, to hide it even from his own contemplation; but 
now, when it thrust itself forcibly to the surface, he felt 
his heart leap, and his face redden, and his whole nature 
thrill with the violence of the shock. 


144 


Captain Bluitt 

He clenched his hands and set his teeth and started 
to walk more rapidly. 

^‘No!” he said. “No! not that! Let me get rid at once 
of that notion. That is madness!’’ 

He pushed the thought away from him and believed 
that he had parted with it finally. He became calmer; 
but as his mind was tranquilized he found the suggestion 
forcing itself upon him again. It seemed to come up in 
spite of his strong effort and desire to keep it submerged. 

“Suppose we examine it, anyhow. No harm can be 
done by simply looking at the project.” 

“That money can be taken, without the smallest risk 
of detection, five thousand dollars at a time. It will make 
me rich. Then I can put it back, with absolutely no harm 
to anybody, for I will find some method of paying in- 
terest to the bank, and so I will have no stain upon my 
hands or my conscience. I will endeavor to eliminate 
risk. I will not pay a dollar to McGann until I know 
that the Motor will do what he says it will do; and if it 
will do that, there can be no risk and the money can be 
returned without the shadow of a doubt.” 

“Besides, have I not labored and toiled for that bank 
year in and year out, for a very insufficient compensa- 
tion? I have made by my skill much of the money that 
has been made.” He began to encourage a sense of 
injustice, and to dwell upon and magnify the wrong that 
had been done to him. 

“I don’t intend to steal the money, but simply to use 
for a time a part of the gains of my own effort and then 
to replace the entire sum with interest.” 

Then the cashier permitted his fancy to consider again 
the picture he had framed in his mind, of the finer house 
on the river Bank, of the easy, independent life, of the 
increased importance he would have in the community, 
always more deferential to the man of wealth. 

Thus he thought until he came to his home and en- 
tered and found his wife sitting in the inner room sewing. 


Temptation 

It seemed as if suddenly he had been plunged into a new 
atmosphere— a new world. He was like a man roused 
irom heavy sleep. 

His wife greeted him gently and he kissed her; and 
as he did so the plan upon which he meditated seemed 
hideous and dreadful. Somehow the tender influences 
of home impelled him away from the conclusions to which 
his selfishness and pride were driving him. 

The matter still lingered in his mind during the hour 
before dinner while he chatted with his wife, and with 
Dorothea when she came in fresh and rosy from a walk 
with Mrs. Burns; but he was almost rid of it when dinner 
was over, and with a feeling that he may have escaped 
danger, came unusual cheerfulness which wife and 
daughter observed with pleasure and responded to. 

Later in the evening he began as was his custom to 
read the evening paper. There seems to be a kind of 
fatality about such things. Why, when you have the 
inflammable material in your mind, is the spark always 
flying in that direction? 

The first thing that caught the cashier’s eye was the 
narrative of a bold speculative venture made by a man in 
New York, who pocketed half a million dollars without 
turning his hand. This set Hamilton’s brain afire; afire 
with the covetousness and envy which were ready to blaze 
upward at such a suggestion. 

In another part of the paper was the synopsis of a 
lecture by a scientific man connected with a govern- 
mental institution in Washington suggesting that the 
greatest mechanical achievements of the concluding half 
of the century would be made along the line of electrical 
invention. The lecturer predicted that enormous fortunes 
would be gained by the men who should follow the suc- 
cess of the electric telegraph with applications of elec- 
tricity to locomotion and lighting. 

Hamilton could hardly restrain his lips from uttering 
exclamations as he read these things. The lecturer 


lO 


146 Captain Bluitt 

seemed to be speaking to him directly, to urge him to 
take any risk that he might be among the first to reap 
the rich harvest that was soon to be gathered. 

But he must not permit himself, in the presence of his 
family, to dwell upon the subject. He put the journal 
by, resolved to take it up again in the morning, and then 
he forced himself to speak to his wife of domestic and 
social and other matters of commonplace. 

While the father set snares for himself and appeared 
likely to close his eyes to almost certain consequences 
which had destroyed more than one man he had known, 
and hundreds of whom he heard, the daughter, happy in 
the home which seemed to her to have no shadows and 
in the glow of the passion that is most delicious, followed, 
by means of letters from Walter, the course of his quick 
advancement. Once or twice in the winter he had found 
opportunity to run down to Turley for a short visit, or 
to spend a Sunday upon which he could go to church 
and hear the very best singing in the whole world; but 
he wrote quite often and mailed marked copies of his 
paper; and the girl learned with pleasure tinged with 
pride that he was acquiring some reputation as a public 
speaker. 

Walter had always felt that he could speak well if he 
should have right opportunity. A depressed and afflicted 
world long ago learned that this belief sometimes is held 
by men in whom it assumes the character of a strong 
delusion; but Walter’s first attempts, marred somewhat 
as they were by the nervousness and incompleteness of 
inexperience, demonstrated to him and to his hearers 
that his conviction that he possessed talent as a speaker 
was well-founded. 

Exercise of the gift gave him almost as much pleasure 
as he found in writing, and he soon discovered that the 
demand for his oratory was eager enough to supply him 
with abundant opportunity to improve his powers by 
practice. 


Temptation 147 

He went upon the stump for the first time in the spring 
campaign, and was received by the Whig voters with 
so much approbation that the party managers looked 
upon him as a man upon whom they could depend in 
the future for larger and severer campaign work. 

These triumphs filled him with delight and added to 
his confidence. There would have been peril indeed that 
so much success and so much praise should have stimu- 
lated his vanity beyond the point of reasonableness, had 
he not possessed sturdy good sense which permitted him 
to take in some degree the measure of the value of popu- 
lar applause. 

What he cared for most were the words of appreciation 
that came from Turley; from his uncle and aunt, who 
were exultant that he should have developed power for 
which there was no precedent at all in the family, and 
from the gentle girl who was deeply gratified but not 
surprised that glory should come to him of whom she 
thought that he deserved far more than he would be 
likely ever to receive. 

Tempted by repeated invitations, Walter made a light 
venture into the lecture-field. He chose for his first 
attempt a church in a country town miles away from the 
great city, and if he did not win a shining victory, the 
failure to do so may be attributed rather to unfavorable 
circumstances — chiefly to the character of his audience, 
than to his unfitness for the task. 

A good while afterwards he wrote and published an 
account of this experiment which was not without its 
humorous aspects. He confessed that the theme had 
been suggested to his mind by the idols which ranged 
themselves upon Uncle Bluitfs mantelpiece. 

Perhaps the narrative, read by Dorothea Hamilton 
with interest, may be worthy of a place in these pages 
which tell something of the fortunes of the youth. 


Captain Bluitt 


LARES AND PENATES. 

I had no especial desire to lecture for the benefit of 
the Fourth Brick Church, but one of the deacons en- 
treated me to do so, and as I had a lecture written upon 
the general subject of “Home,” with the title “Lares 
and Penates,” I consented to deliver it, without any fee, 
in the chapel adjoining the church. 

As nothing was charged for admission, the purpose 
being to take up a collection, the room was quite two- 
thirds full. I took my seat in a chair upon the platform, 
and presently was introduced to the pastor, upon whom 
devolved the duty of presenting me to the audience. 
The good man approached the performance of his task 
with a rather discouraging air of deep solemnity. He 
said, in effect, that while innocent amusement ought to 
be encouraged, he questioned the propriety of using it 
as a means of getting money -for the church. He con- 
fessed to a serious apprehension that the forthcoming 
discourse was of rather a frivolous nature. For his part 
he had opposed the scheme of having the lecture, but he 
had been overruled, and now he wished it to be under- 
stood that he washed his hands of the whole business. 
Then he invited me to come forward. 

I began the discourse and for about five minutes I 
got along, I thought, quite well. Then I heard some 
one snoring. It was a snore expressive of deep, intense, 
satisfying peace. Each snore was long-drawn, profound 
and sonorous. The sleeper manifestly was experiencing 
the most serene repose. The sound annoyed me exceed- 
ingly.^ It seemed a reflection upon my discourse. After 
enduring it for a while I caught the eye of a man on the 
front bench, and by nodding and contracting the muscles 
of my face indicated that I wished him to rouse the 
sleeper. He arose and went over to the snoring man 
and carefully examined him. Then, without disturbing 


Temptation 149 

him, he came to the edge of the platform and whispered 
to me : 

“He seems pretty comfortable. Do you want him for 
anything in particular ?“ 

I thought perhaps it would be better to let the matter 
drop. 

There were directly in front of me a young man and 
a girl who were evidently lovers. I saw him furtively 
squeezing her hand two or three times, and he became 
conscious that I was looking at him. He then folded 
his arms and fixing his gaze upon me with an air of deep 
interest in the lecture he began to feel for her foot with 
his. Even with my eyes upon the manuscript I could see 
that young man’s foot pushing out to the right and 
sweeping all about in search for her foot. She seemed 
to have it tucked away far under the bench, for he could 
not encounter it, although he sat forward on the very 
edge of his seat and thrust his foot underneath, until I 
was really afraid he would lose his balance and tumble 
over upon the floor. But he looked steadfastly at me 
during the entire operation, although his face was some- 
what distorted by his exertions. 

The platform was lighted only by a gas-bracket upon 
the wall at the rear of the desk and I had some difficulty 
in reading my manuscript, so after getting through with 
twenty or thirty pages I stopped and asked that the 
janitor, if he were present, would turn up the gas a little 
bit. The janitor attempted to do so, but he turned the 
key the wrong way and put the gas out. At once I heard 
a noise near to me as of a kiss, and I felt that the young 
man had begun to improve his splendid opportunities. 
All the Sunday school boys in the room whistled vehe- 
mently upon their fingers, and it was with difficulty that 
the good pastor could be heard urging that the best thing 
to do would be to adjourn. A deacon, however, pro- 
tested that the collection had not been taken up, and 
that it would be little short of madness to dismiss the 


1^0 


Captain Bluitt 

audience. Then the janitor crept upon the platform and 
asked me to lend him a match, and in a few minutes we 
had the gas lighted and were ready for a fresh start. 
The man who snored slept sweetly and snored away all 
through the period of excitement. He seemed to enjoy 
himself thoroughly. 

Then I came to the most pathetic and impressive pas- 
sage in my lecture, and in the very midst of it the snoring 
man suddenly awoke and began to applaud. The 
audience joined him feebly, excepting that the young 
man on the front bench clapped his hands vigorously, 
possibly for the purpose of diverting my attention from 
the fact that his foot was resting at last lovingly upon 
her’s. 

But there was no applause when I read my concluding 
paragraph and withdrew to the chair at the back of the 
platform. People seemed to feel relieved. One deacon 
took his stand at the door, and two others started up the 
aisle with the collection baskets. They began with me. 
Both came up and held their baskets at me, and I could 
not well avoid dropping something in one, for the whole 
audience was looking at me. One of the deacons before 
leaving me said: 

“I thought it was going to be a humorous lecture!’^ 

While the collection was taking, the pastor rose and 
said he felt it would not be right to permit the oppor- 
tunity to pass to answer, upon the spot, the argument 
advanced by the lecturer of the evening in favor of 
polygamy. 

I interrupted him to say that he had mistaken my 
meaning. I had not favored polygamy. What I said 
was that the law which gives a widow a third of her late 
husband’s property could not operate where there were 
four widows of one man. It was, I said, a kind of jest. 

But the pastor, without deigning to look at me, went 
on to say that the most insidious kinds of evil are some- 


Temptation i^i 

times disguised as jests, and then he proceeded to free 
his mind at much length. 

When he had concluded the people walked silently 
out, turning their heads occasionally to look at me and 
to whisper the results of their observation. Nobody 
thanked me and I walked down stairs in a sullen, gloomy 
frame of mind. 

In the street I passed two men who were talking. One 
of them who had not been at the entertainment asked the 
other what the lecture was about, and he responded: 

'‘Oh, I dunno; somethin’ or nuther ’bout tares and 
peanuts !’' 


CHAPTER X 

The Curse of Canaan 

I T was Dr. Frobisher’s wish that the congregation 
should prepare a fund of considerable dimensions 
before the return of the Hindu prince to Turley 
so that it could be handed to him for transmission 
to his native land, where literally millions of pariahs, 
sitting in outer darkness and involved in almost incred- 
ible degradation, awaited the regenerating influences of 
cash-remittances from Turley and other American towns 
that basked in the warmth of a higher civilization. 

With characteristic promptitude and vigor Mrs. 
Frobisher at once began the task of soliciting contribu- 
tions to the Pariah Fund, and the indications were fairly 
good that, if she continued to the end with the earnest- 
ness she manifested at the beginning. Bunder Foot would 
return to find a rich harvest from the sowing that he 
had done in his sermon on that famous Sunday evening. 

Mrs. Frobisher made the cause of the pariahs her own. 
Disdaining to resort to fairs and lantern-shows and lec- 
tures and bread-and-cake-sales and other devices com- 
monly employed in behalf of the general effort to bring 
the precious truths of True Religion to the conscious- 
ness of a lost and ruined race, Mrs. Frobisher resolved to 
obtain money by direct personal application to citizens 
of Turley whom she thought able to give, and to whom 
the unspeakable griefs of the pariahs would be likely to 
appeal with telling force. 

Captain Bluitt’s good circumstances and known gen- 
erosity induced her to present the matter first to him. 
And, besides, no doubt he had had visible evidence, while 
(^52) 


The Curse of Canaan 


/"dia of the horrors surrounding pariah existence 
and would be wdhng not only to give money to the great 
cause, but to bear witness that Bunder Foot Singh had 
ernployed no terms of exaggeration in depicting the 
misery in which these unfortunate people were involved. 

^ One bright autumnal afternoon she started for her 
visit in company with her sister-in-law, Mrs. Metcalf of 
Virginia, who was staying with her. 

Mrs. Metcalf was one of the Doodys of Qtiilliponic 
persons of highest quality and believed by some to have 
m their veins blood that had swirled through the ven- 
tricles of kings — native American kings. 

As the two women walked slowly down the street 
toward the river, it might have been observed that Mrs. 
Metcalf had what may be called, perhaps, the Talleyrand 
poise for her head, the chin slightly upturned and the 
eyelids drooping. 


This manner was thought to convey an intimation of a 
degree of haughtiness. It was cultivated by all the Met- 
calfs, excepting the very poorest of the poor relations. 
Mrs. Frobisher employed it, but with such diminished 
elevation of the chin as might be considered becoming in 
the wife of a clergyman, and her natural alertness made 
difficult the acquirement of the habit of drooping her 
eyelids. 

Turning the corner, the visitors came to Captain 
Bluitt’s gate, and, as Mrs. Frobisher lifted the latch she 
said in a subdued voice to Mrs. Metcalf: 

“You understand that these are quite plain people. A 
pastoFs wife is not permitted to draw the social lines too 
sharply.'^ 

The two women crossed the little space between the 
garden-gate and the house, and Mrs. Frobisher, taking 
the knocker in her hand, rapped sharply upon the front 
door. 


A moment later Becky Slifer opened the door. 

Mrs. Frobisher, presenting her card, had just begun 


1^4 Captain Bluitt 

to ask if Miss Bluitt and Captain Bluitt were at home, 
when Mrs. Metcalf, with some excitement said: 

'‘Why Becky, is this you?’’ 

It seemed not a necessary question, for there could 
be no doubt of any kind that this was Becky; but Mrs. 
Metcalf was so much surprised that she did not stop to 
frame her speech wisely; and for a moment she permitted 
her eyelids to rise to their full natural elevation. 

There was, however, no expression of surprise, or in- 
deed of emotion of any kind, upon Becky’s part. Her 
countenance was impassive and she looked precisely as 
if she had never before seen either Mrs. Metcalf or 
Mrs. Frobisher. 

“Don’t you know me, Becky?” asked Mrs. Metcalf, 
with some manifestation of indignation, as she looked 
into the stolid face of the black woman. 

“You’se Miss Emmy, I s’pose,” replied Becky. 

“You know me very well. What are you doing here? 
I had no idea you were here.” 

“I’se earnin’ my livin’,” said Becky indifferently, as if 
that fact might reasonably have been taken for granted. 

“It was wicked for you to run away from me,” said 
Mrs. Metcalf. “You had a good home and you were 
well taken care of. Your bad conduct distressed us all 
very much. You will have to return to us, of course.” 

Becky looked as if return were very far from a matter 
of course; but before she could reply, if indeed she in- 
tended to reply, Mrs. Frobisher whispered: 

“Don’t you think we had better not argue with her 
here? Let us speak with Miss Bluitt.” 

“Please give these cards to Miss Bluitt and Captain 
Bluitt,” said Mrs. Frobisher to Becky, and the two women 
entered the house, while the negress closed the door. 

Mrs. Metcalf was flushed and nervous as she dropped 
into a chair in the parlor, and she fanned herself vigor- 
ously. 

“This is the girl, Mary, of whom I have so often 


The Curse of Canaan 

goken to you. I was perfectly amazed to find her here, 
bhe ran away from me, as I told you, without the smallest 
provocation, and Mr. Metcalf searched everywhere for 
ner. 1 never dreamed that she was living right near you 
here m Turley. It is perfectly astonishing.” 

T have never seen her until now,” said Mrs. Frobisher. 

•She must be taken back, at once,” said Mrs. Metcalf 
positively. “It isn’t possible that these people will con- 
sent to gd ve^ refuge to one of my runaway servants ?” 

“The incident is unfortunate and disagreeable,” said 
Mrs. Frobisher, who felt that the great cause of the 
suffering pariahs had been suddenly thrust into the back- 
ground; but I think the Bluitts will desire to do rig-ht 
Let us see.” ^ ' 

Miss Bluitt entered the room, followed closely by her 
brother. They greeted the visitors very cordially. 

^ The necessary preliminary references to the lovely con- 
dition of the weather were quickly made, but the time 
expended in making them seemed to the impatient Mrs. 
Metcalf rather unreasonably long. 

“My sister,” said Mrs. Frobisher, introducing the un- 
pleasant subject, was astonished to find in your servant 
who admitted us a slave woman of her’s, brought up in 
her own house.” 

“Becky!” exclaimed the Bluitts, together. 

“She ran away from me,” said Mrs. Metcalf, unable 
to restrain herself any longer, “more than a year ago, 
and we could never find any trace of her although we 
advertised and offered large reward for her arrest. I 
was never more astonished in my life than when she 
opened your door just now. She was born upon our 
plantation and I have known her ever since she was a 
child.” 

“She recognized you, of course?” said Captain Bluitt. 
“Instantly,” replied Mrs. Metcalf, “but she pretended 
at first not to know me. You had no idea that she was 
a slave?” 


ij6 Captain Bluitt 

'‘No,” said Miss Bluitt. “She came here seeking a 
place, and we gave her employment. I hesitated, for 
she had no references, but she has been an excellent 
servant.” 

“Trained in my own household,” exclaimed Mrs. Met- 
calf, as if that were to say enough. 

“We should be sorry to lose her,” said Captain Bluitt, 
“but, of course if she is — what would you wish to have 
us do about it ma’am?” 

“She must go back with me, of course,” said Mrs. 
Metcalf. “I shall dislike very much to subject you to in- 
convenience and I am willing to grant some little time 
to Becky, but I cannot afford to lose a piece of property 
so valuable as she is.” 

“I fear she will not go with you willingly,” said Cap- 
tain Bluitt, with the air of a man who is quite certain 
about it. 

“We shall compel her to go then!” exclaimed Mrs. 
Metcalf, with warmth. 

“It really seems a pity, too,” said Miss Bluitt, “to deal 
harshly with a girl who makes such perfectly lovely pone- 
mufhns.” 

“I taught her to make them!” said Mrs. Metcalf, 
almost fiercely. 

“It is difficult to know exactly how to manage the 
matter,” said Captain Bluitt. “We shall urge her to 
return to you, of course, but I am confident she will 
never do so unless force is used.” 

“I will use it,” said Mrs. Metcalf. “The woman be- 
longs to me.” 

“Certainly,” said Miss Bluitt, “there can be no doubt 
about that; but if she should prove obstinate and — ” 

“If you will be so kind as to bring her here,” said 
Mrs. Metcalf, “we might try persuasion, first; I have 
always had great influence with her.” 

“Puella,” said Captain Bluitt, “suppose you ask Becky 
to come into the parlor.” 


The Curse of Canaan 


“One moment,” remarked Mrs. Frobisher. “From 
what I observe of her manner I am sure she will simply 
defy her mistress and her employers. We shall only 
make a scene. What would you think of asking my hus- 
band to come here with us to talk kindly with the woman? 
Ihe fact that he is a clergyman may have some weight 
with her.'' ^ 


'1 should much prefer religious influences to mana- 
cles, said Miss Bluitt. 


^^It is a good plan," said the captain. 

^ "I am satisfied to try it," responded Mrs. Metcalf, 
but she shall go without persuasion if persuasion will 
not avail." 

I trust, said Miss Bluitt, ^^there will be no violence 
or bloodshed in our kitchen. I am sure she will defend 
herself with the poker." 

“Very well, then," said Mrs. Frobisher, rising. “I will 
speak to Dr. Frobisher about it. Miss Bluitt and Cap- 
tain Bluitt, we came here to see you about another matter, 
but I will defer reference to it. When shall we come 
again to talk with the woman?" 


“Why not at once, if that will be agreeable to Captain 
and Miss Bluitt?" said Mrs. Metcalf. 

“This ^ very afternoon, if you wish," remarked Miss 
Bluitt, “but please ask Dr. Frobisher to present the 
matter to her in as engaging a light as he can. Let him 
speak to her of the sweet influences of home." 

“We will return to my house, and if the doctor is there, 
we will come back here at once," said Mrs. Frobisher. 

Bidding farewell, the two women withdrew and sped 
toward the Frobisher house. 

Within an hour they knocked again upon Captain 
Bluitt's door and were admitted by Becky Slifer. 

Captain Bluitt led the way into the library and seated 
the visitors. Then he summoned the negress, who came 
at his call and quietly took the place assigned to her by 
the master of the house. 


ijS Captain Bluitt 

Dr. Frobisher sat in the arm-chair by the table with 
a benevolent look and the air of a man who knows he 
has an impregnable case and has also large confidence 
in his power of persuasion. Mrs. Metcalf sat beside him, 
looking determined but anxious. Captain Bluitt and 
Puella were rather in the background as interested spec- 
tators who had some sympathy with Becky, tempered 
by the conviction that the law was against her. 

Becky stood by the window, her hands folded upon 
her white apron. She wore a tidy blue frock of printed 
cotton, a red handkerchief about her neck, and a reddish 
plaid turban wrapped closely around her head. She was 
perfectly tranquil, as if she had no fear of any kind; as 
if her mind were fully made up; but her piercing black 
eyes had in them a look which contained no suggestion 
of humility. 

Dr. Frobisher began the conversation with that tone 
of voice, mingling gentleness with authority, that he had 
been accustomed to employ when speaking to persons 
who had strayed from the paths of rectitude and whom 
he would lead back again to the ways of righteousness. 

Rebecca,’’ he said, “your good and kind mistress here 
desires that you should return with her to your home 
and your duty. You will do so, will you not?” 

“Dis is my home, Mister Fo’bisher. I don’t leave yer, 
onless Mister Bluitt and Miss Puella drives me out.” 

‘‘But, Rebecca,” said the doctor, “your mistress has 
claims on you that these good people have not.” 

“And I always was kind to you, Becky, and you know 
it, don’t you?” interfered Mrs. Metcalf. 

Kin enough,” answered Becky; “but you says you 
owns me. Miss Emmy, an’ I says you don’t.” 

“You know that I do.” 

“No, you owns yourself an’ I owns myself, dat’s de 
way it is.” 

“You forget the law, Rebecca,” said Dr. Frobisher. 


The Curse of Canaan ,^9 

The law of the land, the law of our country, makes you 
Mrs. Metcalf’s property.” 

De white folks made dat law. I doan’ agree to it. 
Dey ain’ anybody got a right to treat me like I was a 
cow or a piece o’ groun’.” 

“And not only the civil law, so to speak,” continued 
the clergyman, “but the religious law— the law of God, 
supplies warrant for your kind mistress’s claim. If you 
could read the Bible you would find in Genesis 9 — 25 — 
Stay, I will read it for you.” 

“25. And he said, Cursed be Canaan; a 
servant of servants shall he be unto his 
brethren. 

26. And he said, Blessed be the Lord 
God of Shem, and Canaan shall be his 
servant. 

27. God shall enlarge Japheth and he 
shall dwell in the tents of Shem and 
Canaan shall be his servant.” 

“Thus you see the heartless irreverence which Ham, 
the father of Canaan, displayed towards his eminent 
parent whose piety had just saved him from the deluge 
presented the immediate occasion of this remarkable 
prophecy. The Almighty, foreseeing the total degrada- 
tion of the race of Ham, to which you belong, Rebecca, 
ordained them to slavery under the descendants of Shem 
and Japheth, doubtless because he judged it to be their 
fittest condition.” ^ 

“I doan’ see dat Becky Slifer got any ’sponsibility for 
dat business.” 

“In another place,” said the doctor, “we find that 
Abraham had three hundred and eighteen bond-servants 
in his house and among them some ‘bought with his 
money.’ And so also Sarah his wife had an Egyptian 
slave, Hagar, who fled from her severity and the angel 
of the Lord commanded the fugitive to return to her 


i6o Captain Bluitt 

mistress and submit herself. See Genesis 16-9. The case 
exactly resembles your’s, Rebecca, excepting that your 
mistress has never been severe.” 

‘T dunno none o^ dem folks. Ef de ’Gyptian woman 
went back widout bein^ tuk, I got no opinion o’ her good 
sense.” 

“Becky,” observed the captain, feeling that he should 
say something on the law’s side. “Apart from the Bible, 
slavery was universal in the Roman Empire. Many 
slaves, in fact, were superior to their masters in intel- 
ligence.” 

“Was dem brack people. Mister Bluitt?” asked Becky. 

“Well, n-n-no, I think not, I’m not sure, but — ” 

“Werry well, den, ef de white folks wants to be slaves, 
I’se willin’ enough. I doan’ make no ’bjection. I’m 
’bjectin’ to Becky Slifer.” 

“The Roman slaves were taken in war and they were 
called servi” continued Captain Bluitt, intending to finish 
his interjectory remark. 

“And Rebecca,” said Dr. Frobisher, “both in Exodus 
and Leviticus there is full Scriptural warrant for slavery. 
In fact, the children of Israel were instructed to make 
slaves of the heathen around them, and in Exodus 21-20 
it is expressly declared that the slave ‘is money’ — that 
is property.” 

“Is dat ’ligion?” asked Becky. 

“It was an arrangement expressly sanctioned by your 
Heavenly Father, and you fight against him when you 
refuse to accept it.” 

“Well, Mister F’obisher, ef dat’s ’ligion, den I’se not 
’ligious. I’se a pagan. Hoo-dooin’ is better ’n dat.” 

Dr. Frobisher looked shocked and grieved. 

“If you feel in that way, my good woman, it is hardly 
worth while for me to tell you that, in the New Testa- 
ment, Paul expressly directed Onesimus, a runaway slave 
like you, to return to his master.” 

“Did he go?” asked Becky. 



“Is dat ’ligion?’’ asked Becky. — Page 160. 



The Curse of Canaan i6i 

''Of course.’^ 

^''But I won’t!” said Becky. 

Becky! exclaimed Mrs. Metcalf, ^‘it is perfectly scan- 
dalous for you to speak in that manner to this distin- 
guished clergyman. You needn’t be so bold and saucy. 
We may be able to find a way to compel you to go back.” 

"I’ll never go back alive,” said Becky, “’less I go 
down dere a free woman to help odder black people to 
git free.” 

‘You may find that the law is stronger than you are,” 
said Mrs. Metcalf, angrily. 

De law can’t keep me from jumpin’ into de river,” 
said Becky. 

“Did you ever hear such wild talk?” asked Mrs. Met- 
calf, of Miss Puella. “Her mind must be disordered.” 

“No evidence of it appears in her muffins,” answered 
Miss Bluitt. 

"I wish to point out to you further,” said Dr. Fro- 
bisher, “that although there were hundreds of thousands 
of slaves in the world when our Saviour was here, he 
never uttered one word of condemnation of the institu- 
tion; not one!” 

“Did he say slavery was right?” asked Becky. “Fo’ 
ef he did, I doan’ wan’ to know him.” 

“I am afraid, Rebecca,” said the doctor, shaking his 
head sadly, “you are incorrigible. I had no idea that 
any one in this community had such wild and wrong 
notions. You cannot hope to go to heaven unless you 
have very different feelings from those you entertain 
now.” 

“Does de brack people go to the same Heaven as de 
white folks?” asked Becky. 

“I suppose they do; in fact, I may say positively that 
they do,” replied the minister. 

“Is dey free dere?” 

“No doubt they are. There is nothing in the Scriptures 
to indicate the contrary. Yes, all are free there; but 


Captain Bluitt 


162 

this is not Heaven, Rebecca. Here we groan and toil 
and suffer that we may reach that better place. 

“Den it ’pears to me ’s if God don’t wan no slavery 

where he is,” said Becky. . . . 

“Our knowledge of that holy place is obscure, my 
good woman. And besides, it is necessary that we obey 
the rules laid down for our guidance here. Our happi 
ness in the hereafter depends upon our obedience to the 
commandments given for the direction of our conduct 
in this world, and your plain duty, in this view, is to yield 

to your mistress/' ,,11 

Captain Bluitt’s sympathy for Becky had been growing 
during the conversation, and her boldness increased his 

favor for her. . , « 

‘‘Mrs. Metcalf and Dr. Frobisher, he said, although 
it is a fact that slavery existed from the earliest ages, 
and was in operation in Rome so far back as the time 
when Tarquin was expelled, I can’t say that I ever cared 
much for it. Anyhow, those times were different from 
these times, and I don’t like the thing the way we have 
it. This woman here doesn’t want to go back and i am 
quite willing to have her stay here. It’s a pity to have 
any fuss about it, and perhaps to get 
town I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Mrs. Metcalf; 111 buy 
your claim to Becky if you don’t put it at too large a 

figure. What do you say?” , ^ . 

Before Mrs. Metcalf could respond, Becky sharply in- 
terrupted: i • > 

“Doan’ you wase none o your money a-buyin me, 

Mister Bluitt! I’m much ’bleeged fo’ yo’ kin’ness, but 

ef you’se feelin’ generous gimme de money, fur I b longs 

to myself.” , 

Mrs. Metcalf’s face was flushed with anger. 

“How dare you speak in that insolent manner to Cap- 
tain Bluitt, you bad woman! No!” she said, turning to 
the captain, “I will not sell her. I will bring her home 
again and have her well whipped for her misconduct.” 


The Curse of Canaan ,6^ 

“That would be positively shocking/’ said Puella, “I 
should think it would make her completely indifferent to 
all the refining influences of home.” 

Becky did not show any feeling either of anger or of 
fear. Perhaps there was a glimmer of disdain in her eyes 
as she said: 

“Pse sorry to ’fend you Miss Emmy, but I mus’ answer 
when I’se spoken to; and Mister F’obisher he won’t say 
it’s ’ligious to try to have me whipped.” 

Yes, Rebecca,” said the doctor, “yes, I will say it. 
Stripes not exceeding forty were appointed to offenders 
in Israel by divine authority, and our Master himself used 
a scourge of small cords when he drove the money- 
changers from the temple. Your mistress has a human 
and divine right to whip you if you are in need of such 
punishment.” 

“The Roman master,” said Captain Bluitt, “had the 
right to take the life of his slave.” 

“De man doan’ live,” said Becky, calmly, “dat dare 
lash my back. I’d kill him, sure.” 

“How perfectly dreadful,” exclaimed Dr. Frobisher. 
“No wonder you are indifferent to the plain teaching of 
Scripture and the obligations of religion if you are willing 
to redden your hands with the blood of your fellow 
creatures.” 

“Dey fetched de blood when dey done lash my father,” 
said Becky quietly. “I seen it wid my own eyes.” 

“But no doubt he had done wrong. They did not kill 
him. You have threatened to commit murder,” said the 
minister. “It is dreadful.” 

“Dey sol’ him away from his wife an’ chilluns, an’ dat’s 
wuss dan killin’. Mister F’obisher.” 

“No, Rebecca, no,” replied the clergyman, “not worse. 
The separation of families is indeed an unfortunate re- 
quirement of some of the exigencies that present them- 
selves under the operation of this divinely appointed in- 
stitution. No doubt it is a part of the curse pronounced 


i 64 Captain Bluitt 

Upon the descendants of Canaan, for we must remember 
that it was a curse, and not a blessing; but murder, of 
which you speak so lightly, is prohibited by the Ten 
Commandments. It is always a frightful crime.^^ 

“Does you wan’ me to love God, Mister F’obisher?” 
asked Becky. 

“Why, my poor woman, that is necessarily my most 
earnest desire. Surely I do.” 

^‘You wan’ me to love Him because he cussed me?” 
Rebecca,” said the doctor, with less positiveness of 
assurance in his tone than he had when he began, “we 
sinful, finite creatures, made with his hands, have no right 
to question the strange dispensations of his providence. 
His ways are not our ways. Our simple duty is humble 
subrnission to the plain declarations of his will. When 
in his inspired word he declares 'Servants, be obedient 
to them that are your masters,’ we have but one thing 
to do — you have but one thing to do — to obey; you must 
obey your mistress.” 

“I doan’ wan’ to make no trouble,” said Becky, calmly, 
“nor to sass Miss Emmy nor you, nor to ’fend Miss 
Bluitt and Mister Bluitt, but when you ask me to love 
God who cussed me an’ de missis who whips me I’se 
’bleepd to say I can’t an’ I won’t.” 

Miss Bluitt really felt admiration for the woman. Her 
sympathies went out to her and she was glad Becky 
was defiant; glad on Becky’s account and not sorry be- 
cause of Becky’s surpassing power with pone-muffins. 

“It is useless,” said Mrs. Metcalf, rising, “to debate 
with this perverse and wicked creature any longer. Let 
us go. Dr. Frobisher. Captain Bluitt and Miss Bluitt, 

I thank you for your courtesy in permitting us to come 
here and for the generous offer, you. Captain, have made 
to me.” 

“Becky, you can go,” said Puella. 

“I shall write to my husband,” said Mrs. Metcalf, as 
the group passed from the room into the hall, “and ad- 


The Curse of Canaan ,65 

vise with him what action we should take. No doubt 
Becky will remain here with you until I hear from him.” 

“Brother!” exclaimed Miss Bluitt, as the door closed 
upon the visitors; “brother, we can’t let that cruel woman 
take Becky away! We must take her part.” 

“I know,” said the captain, “that’s just the way I feel. 
But the law sanctions slavery arid Becky is the property 
of Mrs. Frobisher’s sister.” 

“But they were going to whip her!” said Puella, with 
an expression of horror. “To whip any woman is bad 
enough, but to whip a good cook like Becky is mere 
barbarism.” 

“I fully agree with you,” replied the captain. “A white 
woman who is willing to whip a black woman or any 
other woman must have a dislocation of her moral 
machinery. To say as the Latins did that she is hrutem 
fulmen, a brute and a fool, is to put the fact mildly.” 

“I shall advise her,” said Puella, “to go to see Dr. 
Quelch, who has helped so many people of her kind. 
Possibly he may know what to advise.” 

“They may capture her on the road,” suggested the 
captain. 

“Then I will insist that she shall take the poker with 
her.” 

Captain Bluitt laughed. 

“You don’t mind a fight if it is not held in our kitchen.” 

“No, brother! You know very well that I want no 
fighting anywhere, but why should not I resist when 
somebody is going to beat me? Poking with a poker is 
no more wicked than whipping with a whip!” 

“Not a bit,” said the captain. “I think I should really 
prefer it.” 

Miss Bluitt went to the kitchen, where Becky was 
tranquilly employed in her customary work, precisely 
as if she had never heard of Mrs. Metcalf and Dr. Fro- 
bisher. 

“Becky,” said Puella, “Captain Bluitt and I are dread- 


i66 Captain Bluitt 

fully sorry for you; we do not want to lose you, with 
your faithful service and devoted earnestness and the 
lovely way you have of making’ puddings and other nice 
desserts; but yet we hardly like to array ourselves openly 
against Mrs. Metcalf and the law.” 

“Doan’ you min’, Miss Puella,” said Becky, turning 
her head to look at her employer. “I kin tek care o’ dem. 
Dey doan’ bodder me. I’se not a gwine back to no 
plantation. I’se gwine to stay right yer, ef you’ll hev 
me.” 

“Have you? Why Becky I am more than willing to 
have you stay. You heard my brother offer to buy you?” 

“Ef Miss Emmy ’d a tuk de money I’d runned away 
from you. She ain’ got nuffin to sell. Hit’s no use fo’ 
Cap’n Bluitt frowin’ his money away buyin’ free niggers. 
Missy, yo’ jes let yo’ min’ res’ easy. Dey doan’ tek me, 
min’ dat.” 

“I thought, Becky, of advising you to go to see Dr. 
Quelch. He takes a great deal of interest in colored 
people and knows just what to do when there is trouble 
like this. Do go to see him.” 

“I’se a gwine out dere dis werry night. Missy, ef you 
lemme go.” 

“Certainly, of course; go and have a good talk with 
him, but don’t tell him we sympathize with you. You 
know I go to Dr. Frobisher’s church and it might make 
trouble.” 

“I sez nuffin, Missy, nuffin at all. I doan’ wan’ no 
trouble. All I wants is dat dey lemme alone. Dat min- 
ister ’ll do mo’ good, Miss Puella, a-preachin’ to white 
folks dan to colored people. He ain’ got no call to in- 
struc’ me.” 


CHAPTER XI 

The Arm of the Law is Extended 

W HEN Mrs. Metcalf returned to her home, in 
the Aramingo region in the summer-time 
after encountering Becky Slifer at Captain 
Bluitt’s house, she reported to her husband 
the particulars of the incident and Mr. Metcalf deter- 
mined to adopt measures to procure the return of the 
fugitive slave to the plantation. 

But Mr. Metcalf did not act quickly. No Metcalf ever 
acted quickly, unless under the impulse of strong passion. 
It was a part of the Metcalf nature and the Metcalf prac- 
tice to maintain a condition of Repose. To be in a hurry 
about anything, to betray emotion excepting* in extra- 
ordinary circumstances, to permit agitation of mind or 
body, to make any kind of a fuss, was to manifest want 
of dignity, absence of poise; and no Metcalf (unless he 
was a very poor relation) ever neglected dignity or was 
indifferent to poise. 

Becky was a valuable bit of property, but Mr. Metcalf 
had much other property, and Mrs. Metcalf’s narrative 
encouraged the belief that the woman would remain 
where she was until the Metcalf arm should be stretched 
out in a perfectly tranquil manner to seize her and bring 
her home. 

Not that Mr. Metcalf entertained the purpose to 
extend his personal arm to catch his slave. He would 
not have touched her had he encountered her in the 
street of the neighboring town. He might not even 
have nodded to her or given her a glance of recognition. 
No Metcalf could condescend to grapple with a negro, 

(167) 


,68 Captain Bluitt 

any more than with a bull-calf or an unruly swine. It 
was Mr. Metcalf’s purpose that he would have his over- 
seer send a man who had acquired expertness in slave- 
catching to fetch the woman home by due process of 
law, and to have him go upon the mission with a sug- 
gestion in his mind that, if the law should not work 
promptly, to bring her home at any rate. The promise 
of a reward of five hundred dollars for her return had not 
been withdrawn nor would it be. 

After permitting several months to elapse, and having 
deliberately disposed of some other and perhaps more 
important matters that had engaged his mind, Mr. Met- 
calf one day summoned his overseer and giving him 
the information that had been brought home by Mrs. 
Metcalf, instructed the overseer to send John Blodgett, 
the slave-catcher whose services Mr. Metcalf had more 
than once before employed, to take possession of Becky 
Slifer. 

Blodgett appeared in Turley at the end of the winter, 
and upon determining the fact that the woman was still 
living quietly with Captain Bluitt, permitted himself to 
have a period of repose, after the Metcalf fashion, at the 
hotel. 

Having considered the situation and in a leisurely 
manner made himself acquainted with Captain Bluitt’s 
grounds and mansion, Blodgett concluded to try, first of 
all, what the processes of the law could do for him. 

He went, therefore, to a justice of the peace, and 
making the necessary oath, obtained a warrant for the 
arrest of Rebecca Slifer as a runaway slave. 

The proposition of the magistrate was that he should 
have the warrant served by the constable; Blodgett, if 
necessary, assisting; but Blodgett made objection to this 
proceeding upon the ground that if two men should ap- 
proach the woman her suspicion would be excited and 
there might be trouble. 

“If you will let me do it,” he said, “I will arrest her 


Arm of the Law Extended 169 

myself, without any fuss, and clap the hand-cuffs on her 
and bring her here.” 

He chose for the performance of the task the early 
afternoon of a day when Captain Bluitt happened to be 
absent in the city. Blodgett was not sure of the captain’s 
disposition toward the case, and he wished to have no 
interference if that could be avoided. 

He went to Captain Bluitt’s garden, opened the gate, 
and sauntered carelessly along the path that ran around 
the house to the kitchen-door. 

He knocked upon the door gently, but opened it with- 
out waiting for response and pushed his way into the 
kitchen. 

Becky was there, engaged in her usual work. 

She stopped and looked sharply at the intruder, who 
retained an appearance of perfect tranquility. He sat 
down upon a chair near to the door. 

“Is Captain Bluitt at home?” he asked. 

“No, suh,” said Becky, still suspicious; “he’s not yer 
to-day.” 

“Hm-m-m,” said Blodgett, looking at the floor, with 
the air of a man who is disappointed. “I wanted to see 
him.” 

“You live here, do you?” he asked. 

“Doan’ you see me yer? What’s I doin’ yer, but livin’ 
yer?” 

“What’s your name?” 

“I’se not ’bleeged to tell my name to dis man or dat 
man ’twel I know what he wants it fur. Mister Bluitt 
know my name, dat’s ’nuff.” 

“It seems to me I’ve seen you before, somewhere. Let 
me see,” and Blodgett rose from his chair and moved 
towards her. 

Becky darted towards the door that led from the 
kitchen to the house, but Blodgett intercepted her. Then 
she ran for the door that opened to the garden. He 
pounced upon her and succeeded in snapping one hand- 


1 70 Captain Bluitt 

cuff upon her wrist. She evaded the other, and drawing 
her manacled arm quickly away she screamed and made 
another effort to reach the door. 

Blodgett seized her and then she turned on him and 
fought with the fury of a tigress, while she called for help. 
He tried to choke her, but she leaped upon him and 
flung him over, and the two wrestled and rolled over and 
over upon the floor. Blodgett felt that he had undertaken 
almost too much for one man; he wished he had brought 
the constable. 

Becky’s cries brought Miss Bluitt to the kitchen, from 
the house, and Rufus from the garden. As they entered 
the room the two combatants were in the fury of the fight 
and to the observers it really seemed as if Becky were 
likely to be the victor. 

Miss Bluitt regarded the scene with amazement and 
terror. 

“Separate them, Rufus!” she cried. “Pull them apart! 
This is perfectly, perfectly dreadful!” 

Rufus seemed somewhat timid about meddling with the 
fighters, but Miss Bluitt urged him forward, and laying 
her own hands on Becky, with Rufus she pulled her 
away and raised her to her feet. 

While Blodgett scrambled upward, Becky stood pant- 
ing, disheveled, covered with dust, with eyes glaring at 
him as if she would like to have one more bout with him 
that she might bring his career to a conclusion then and- 
there. 

“Becky! what is the matter? What is this terrible up- 
roar about?” asked Miss Bluitt. “And you man!” she 
said without waiting for a response from Becky, “you 
wicked, scandalous man, whoever you are! How dare 
you come into my house and try to kill my servant in 
this awful manner?” And Miss Bluitt stamped her foot 
and glared at Blodgett almost as furiously as Becky did. 

“Beg pardon, mum,” answered Blodgett, looking 
somewhat shamefaced at being caught in the very act of 


Arm of the Law Extended 17 1 

suffering defeat from a woman, '‘but I came here as an 
agent of the law and this nigger flew at me like a she-cat 
before I could hardly say a word.” 

“Licked you too!” interjected Rufus. 

“Rufus!” exclaimed Puella, stamping her foot again, 
“be quiet!” 

“Yes'm,” said Rufus, “but I believe she kin lick two 
like him.” 

“Madame,” said Blodgett, without deigning to remark 
upon Rufus’s opinion of his ability as a warrior, “I have 
here a warrant for the arrest of this woman, and she re- 
sisted my attempt to serve it.” 

“What kind of a warrant? Warrant for what?” 

“Madame, she is Mrs. Metcalf’s slave, and I am going 
to take her before a magistrate to have her sent back.” 

“No you’se not! I’se gwine befo’ no magistrate,” said 
Becky, fiercely. The unsuccessful hand-cuff dangled 
from her left wrist as she spoke. 

“Let me see the warrant,” said Miss Bluitt. Blodgett 
handed it to her and she read it. 

“I do wish brother were at home,” she said, “I haven’t 
the least idea what to do.” 

“Madame,” said Blodgett, “it would make no difference 
if he were at home. Law is law, and he knows it. This 
woman will have to go before the justice no matter who 
opposes it. Nobody can defy a paper like this.” 

“Will she have fair play there?” 

“Certainly, madame.” 

“Is there a chance for her to get off?” 

“I hope not madame, but there may be. Nobody can 
tell.” 

Miss Bluitt turned to Becky and whispered to her: 

“Becky, I am very sorry, but you had better go.” 

“I’se not gwine widout trouble, Missy.” 

“Becky, if you resist they will bring a dozen men to 
take you and they will hurt you, and they will be so angry 
that they will never let you go. If you will go quietly with 


172 


Captain Bluitt 

the man, I will send Rufus in a hurry to bring Dr. Quelch 
and I will have our lawyer, Major Gridley, go with you to 
defend you. Will you consent?” 

Becky thought a while and then she said: 

“Missy, ril go ef you’ll have Rufus git de Majah at 
oncet, befo’ he go fo’ Dokker Quelch.” 

Miss Bluitt called Rufus. 

“Take a horse, quickly, and go to Major Gridley’s 
office first and tell him to be at the magistrate’s to defend 
Becky when she gets there; then ride hard as you can to 
Dr. Quelch’s and bring him over to the magistrate’s.” 

“Becky will go with you,” said Miss Bluitt to Blod- 
gett, “but you must wait for a few moments until she 
can arrange her clothing. I cannot have her dragged 
through the streets in this dreadful condition.” 

“Very well, mum,” said Blodgett, glad to have the 
matter so comfortably adjusted. “I’ll wait; there is no 
hurry.” 

Miss Bluitt helped Becky to adjust her dress, to re-tie 
her turban, which had fallen off in the scuffle, and to make 
herself generally tidy. 

“Tek dem off!” said the negress, extending to Blod- 
gett the arm upon which was the hand-cuff. 

Blodgett hesitated. 

“I doan’ tek de fus’ step wid dem on!” said Becky. 

Blodgett unlocked the link and put the hand-cuffs in 
his pocket. 

Becky consented to walk in front of him as the two 
proceeded to the magistrate’s office. Her hope was in 
the lawyer, first, but chiefly in Dr. Quelch. But, whether 
one or the other failed or succeeded, she had no doubt 
whatever concerning her own purpose. If she should be 
turned over to Blodgett she would try to escape and she 
felt confident Dr. Quelch would help her to escape; but 
if this were not possible she was resolved to take her life. 

When the office of the magistrate was reached another 


Arm of the Law Extended 17 j 

hearing engaged the attention of the court, and there was 
delay for fully half an hour. 

Major Gridley was there waiting for his client, and 
before the case was opened Dr. Quelch drove up to the 
door and came into the room. 

Both of them talked with Becky. The Major intended 
to do all that he could within the boundaries of the law 
to free the woman. Dr. Quelch proposed to give her 
freedom if he could without respect for the law. 

He arranged that a man should hold his horse while 
the matter was pending, and he whispered to Becky that 
if the case should go against her she should bolt, get in 
his carriage and drive as fast as she could to the next 
station beyond his own on the Underground Railroad. 

Blodgett and the Metcalfs of Aramingo were repre- 
sented in this proceeding by Billy Grimes, a member of 
the Turley bar who combined intense political activity 
with the practice of his profession. He was the local 
agent of the boss who, without holding any official posi- 
tion, managed to govern the whole state. 

When the case was called. Grimes explained to the 
magistrate that Becky Slifer was a runaway slave, the 
property of Mr. Metcalf of Aramingo, and that she had 
been in hiding in the home of Captain Bluitt until Mrs. 
Metcalf by accident last summer discovered the woman’s 
whereabouts. Now the owner of the property had sent 
Mr. Blodgett here to take possession of it, and Mr. 
Grimes had no doubt at all that the justice, representing 
the majesty of the law, would conclusively demonstrate, 
by handing Becky Slifer over to the representative of the 
owner, that the sacred rights of property are respected in 
this law-abiding community. 

Mr. Blodgett, under oath, declared that he was Mr. 
Metcalf’s agent with due authority from him to arrest this 
woman and to take her to her home, and he presented a 
letter, signed by Mr. Metcalf, empowering him to bring 
the woman back. 


174 


Captain Bluitt 

Mr. Grimes insisted that this closed the case, although 
he had confessed privately to Blodgett, only a few 
moments before the hearing began, that he feared Blod- 
gett had no case, and he had permitted himself to convey 
to Blodgett the fact that he considered Blodgett to be not 
any more fit than an infant to take care of any case, 
because Blodgett had neglected to confer with Grimes 
before he made a movement in the matter. 

“Your honor,'' said Major Gridley, with the dignity 
and gravity that became a lawyer who ranked among the 
first in the state, “permit me to speak a word for my client 
here, this unfortunate woman. This man Blodgett has 
not even laid the foundation of a claim to the right to 
seize her person. Who is this man? Nobody knows. 
He comes here with a letter purporting to be written by a 
certain Metcalf. But the letter may be forged; or this 
man may not be the Blodgett named in it; or Metcalf 
may not own any woman named Becky Slifer; or this 
woman may not bear that name. I know you too well, 
your honor, to suppose for a moment that you will em- 
ploy your authority to hand over this woman, who is 
presumably a free woman, to this unknown man to do 
what he will with her! Your honor, that kind of thing 
may be done sometimes in a slave state, but not here, 
sir, in a free state ! Never! Never! Think of the dimen- 
sions of the wrong if this court, appointed to execute 
justice, should actually condemn a free woman to be 
sold into slavery because some covetous ruffian has 
fancied that he would like to enrich himself by such a 
nefarious transaction! No, your honor; let us have, 
first, proof that Mr. Metcalf owns this woman and has 
a right to her, and then it will be time to consider what 
shall be done next. I move that this defendant be dis- 
charged." 

“Rebecca Slifer, you are discharged," said the justice 
promptly. 

“One moment," said Major Gridley as Blodgett rose 


Arm of the Law Extended 17^ 

to withdraw. *‘Your honor, will you permit me to say 
further that, upon its face and for all we know to the 
contrary, the action of this man alleged to be Blodgett 
in forcing himself into Captain Bluitt’s house and vio- 
lently assailing this woman in an effort to manacle her, 
has the appearance of an attempt to kidnap a free black 
person. This is an offense of a very serious character 
in this state and if it can be proved upon any one the 
penalties are severe. I am informed by the friends of 
this woman that they intend to proceed against this 
assailant and to have him put under bail upon the charge 
referred to unless he shall leave the town within two 
hours, and I will take pains to see that the threat is made 
good.'' 

Blodgett left the room with his counsel, who said to 
him when they reached the sidewalk: 

‘‘I told you you were a fool! Next time you want to 
consult me before you do anything." 

'T’ll have that nigger yet," said Blodgett. 

*‘But you want to get sense first," replied Grimes, 
whose fee was in his pocket. 

Major Gridley shook hands with Dr. Quelch, who 
shook hands with Becky and, as the Major went back 
to his office. Dr. Quelch, standing upon the pavement 
by his buggy, said in a low tone to Becky: 

''You had better come with me. They will try again 
to take you. Come with me and I will give you work 
to do that you will like." 

"I'se 'bleeged to you Mister Quelch, werry much 
'bleeged to you, but ef you doan' min' I stays whar I 
is twel dey try to meddle wid me agin. I'se not a feared 
of 'em." 

"Very well, Becky," said the doctor, getting into his 
buggy and gathering the lines into his hands, "do as 
you please, but I am afraid you'll regret not taking my 
advice." 

When Rufus, who had observed the proceedings in the 


176 Captain Bluitt 

justice’s court with much interest, heard the decision 
of the magistrate he hurried home to bring the news 
to Miss Bluitt. 

Captain Bluitt had returned, and after hearing from 
his sister the story of the contest in his kitchen he had 
resolved to go to the magistrate’s office to see if he 
could do anything to help Becky. 

Rufus entered just as the captain was leaving the 
house. 

“Well, Rufus?” he said. 

“She’s let go,” he exclaimed. “The judge never gave 
Blodgett a show, and Major Gridley threatened to put 
him in jail.” 

“To put whom in jail?” asked Miss Bluitt. 

“Blodgett. Said he was a kidnapper.” 

“And Becky is coming home again?” asked the cap- 
tain. 

Yes, sir; straight home. Well, Cap’n Bluitt I never 
seen a woman fight like Becky! The way she tackled 
that man! I’d rather fight a bear, any time!” 

“Very well, Rufus,” said the captain. “That’ll do.” 

“But, one moment,” said Miss Bluitt, as Rufus turned 
to leave the room. “Major Gridley told Blodgett he 
would arrest him, did he?” 

“Yes’m; the major said he was a kidnapper and he 
turned around and shook his finger at Blodgett and told 
him to git out of the town. I seen him when he done it.” 

“Saw whom?” 

“I seen the major shakin’ his finger at Blodgett.” 

Miss Bluitt sighed a sigh of relief, but she had a new 
trouble upon her mind. She said to Rufus, who stood 
over by the door fumbling his hat: 

“Rufus, you shouldn’t say you seen him. The proper 
method of speaking is saw. T saw him’ — not when he 
done it, but when he did it.” 

“Yes’m, of course; that’s when I did see him.” 

“You understand, do you?” 

“O yes! I understand.” 


Arm of the Law Extended 177 

'^You know, Rufus, seen is the past participle of the 
verb to see, while what you want to use is the indicative 
mood, past tense of the verb; that is ‘I saw.’ And in 
the same manner did, is the past tense, indicative mood 
of the verb to do. You must say ‘when he did it;’ not 
‘when he done it’ ” 

“Certainly, ma’am; that’s just right.” 

“I heard you say yesterday to Hannah, Rufus, that 
you were sorry you went somewhere or other alone, and 
you used this painful expression, ‘If I’d a knowed you’d 
a went. I’d a taken you along.’ ” 

’ “Yes’m, that’s what I said.” 

“But Rufus, that is dreadful. There is no such word 
as knowed.” 

“Isn’t there, mum? Where did I ever get it from 
then?” 

“You should say known. ‘If I had known.’ To know 
is an irregular verb, and the active voice, first person, 
singular number, subjunctive mood, past perfect tense, is 
had knozvn. ‘If I had known you would have gone.’ ” 

“Very strange mum, isn’t it?” 

“Not at all, Rufus. ‘You’d a went’ is quite impossible 
English. Went is the past tense of the verb to go, while 
gone is the past participle. Try to get the participles 
right.” 

“I see,” said Rufus. 

“Rufus reminds me,” remarked Captain Bluitt, “of the 
old Roman expression, particeps criminis — that is, he 
makes an almost criminal use of participles.” 

“Would and have in that sentence,” continued Miss 
Bluitt, “are auxiliaries used with gone, the participle. 
Now, Rufus, try to be more careful in the future in 
speaking, won’t you? It is really painful to educated 
people to listen to such dreadful misuse of language.” 

“I’ll try mum,” answered Rufus, “but you see I never 
had no schoolin’ wuth speakin’ of. I ain’t never had no 
such show as you had mum.” 


12 


lyS Captain Bluitt 

“Rufus!” exclaimed Miss Bluitt, “there! you are doing 
worse than ever! You mean you have not had good 
opportunities. I know that, and I am very, very sorry 
for you. But really you must know that two negatives 
make an affirmative, don’t you, Rufus?” 

“No, mum; never heard of it before. I don't know 
what a negative is, even.” 

“He used three,” interposed the captain. “The third 
one ought to bring it back to the negative, oughtn’t it, 
Puella?” 

“Negation, denial, the opposite of affirmation, of yes,” 
said Miss Bluitt to Rufus. “ ‘Ain’t never had no.’ Three 
times you speak negatively. Once is enough. And 
there is no such word, Rufus, as ain't, though it is used 
sometimes for am not. You could not say ‘I am not 
had an opportunity,’ could you?” 

“I might try, mum, but it would be very hard.” 

“Remember that never is an adverb, and opportunity 
is a common noun, third person, singular number, neuter 
gender, and objective case.” 

“Yes’m.” 

“You should say ‘I never had an opportunity,’ not a 
‘show,’ Rufus; and then had is the indicative mood, past 
tense of the transitive verb to have," 

“Will you please say that again, mum? I don’t quite 
get it.” 

“I will write it out for you, Rufus. Or, better still, I 
will lend you a grammar and have Hannah go over it 
with you. Promise me that you will study it?” 

“Very well, mum.” 

As Rufus withdrew, literally saturated with syntax, 
and with his head not perfectly clear as to what really 
was the matter with his parts of speech. Miss Bluitt arose 
and went to the kitchen to welcome Becky upon her re- 
turn, while Captam Bluitt resumed the reading of the 
third volume of Plutarch’s Lives. 


CHAPTER Xn 

The March of Invention 

O N a Saturday afternoon in summer-time, Captain 
Bluitt sat in the library of his house, convers- 
ing with Reverend Doctor Frobisher. The 
chair occupied by the minister was placed by 
the front-window, and the minister as he talked rested 
his elbow upon the window-sill. 

Glancing outward while he was in the midst of one of 
his sentences, his attention was attracted to a wagon 
that stopped in front of Captain BluitCs gate. The 
wagon bore a burden of so odd a kind that the clergy- 
man did not complete his utterance. Instead, he turned 
to Captain Bluitt, and pointing his finger towards the 
wagon, said: 

‘‘Why, what is that?” 

Captain Bluitt arose and came to the window. After 
looking at the wagon and the queer object upon the 
wagon, and at the bustling man* who appeared to be di- 
recting the driver. Captain Bluitt, smiling, said; 

“That must be my catapult.” 

“Your catapult!” exclaimed Dr. Frobisher, in aston- 
ishment. 

“Yes,” responded the captain. “You know I had a 
kind of notion that I should like to see a real catapult, — 
I have read so much about the machine — and a few 
weeks ago when I was talking to Judge McGann about 
it he offered to make one for me. I guess he has it on 
the w'agon. It looks like it, any way.” 

The clergyman seemed much amused. 

“I really have some curiosity about it myself,” he said. 

(179) 


,8o Captain Bluitt 

“I haven’t given catapults a thought since I read Livy, 
school 

“Exactiv!” said Captain Bluitt. “I got my idea about 
catapults from Cssar. You know how it is; when you 
have read and read and read about a thing, you want 
to see it. McCann insisted that he was thoroughly 
familiar with the whole catapult business— a kind of a 
catapult expert, in fact, and so I told him to go ahead 

and build one.” ^ . tt-* 

“I have no doubt at all,” said the minister, that King 
Uzziah built them in Jerusalem. Refer to Second Chron- 
icles, twenty-six.” ^ • 

“I don’t remember hearing of that, said the Captain. 
“So we have sacred as well as profane history behind 
us. If the thing works I’ll lend it to you to give illus- 
trations to your Sunday School. Here comes JMcGann. 
He wants to see me. Shall we go out to him?’’ 

The Captain and Dr. Frobisher took up their hats as 
they passed through the hall, and came to the front-door 
just as McCann had his hand upon the knocker.^^ 

“I’ve brought that catapult around. Captain, said 
McCann, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb to 
the wagon in the street. “Where shall I put it?” 

“Is it heavy?” asked the Captain. 

SO very heavy. Four men can carry it, surely. 
“I will call Rufus,” said the Captain. 

When Rufus, Captain Bluitt’s hired man, had been 
summoned, he was sent to seek for two other men, who, 
with Rufus and the driver of the wagon, should carry 
the machine into the garden. 

Dr. Frobisher stood by the gate waiting, while Cap- 
tain Bluitt, accompanied by McCann, walked around 
the wagon examining the catapult. ^ 

“It seems to me, judge,” remarked the Captain, that 
there is a good deal more in that catapult than the speci- 
fications call for.” 

“I know,” responded McCann. “Just as soon as 1 


The March of Invention iSr 

began to build it, new ideas swarmed into my mind and 
I introduced some of them, here and there. But you 
needn’t worry. Captain. You wanted a catapult, and 
there you have it. ITl bet you that for all-around effect- 
iveness the world never saw such a catapult as that 
before.” 

Captain Bluitt looked vexed and disappointed. 

“That’s all very well, judge,” he said, “but I told you 
particularly I wanted just an old-fashioned catapult — a' 
historical catapult, — like Titus used at the siege of 
Jerusalem.” 

“Very well;” answered the judge, “and here you have 
it, only with what you may call emendations. The world 
has moved, Captain, in two thousand years, and it is 
hardly possible to put together a catapult now without 
infusing into it some little tinges of advanced scientific 
feeling. There are happy thoughts in that catapult of 
mine that would make Titus blink.” 

“I suppose we can’t help it now,” said Captain Bluitt, 
mournfully, “but really I don’t care so much to believe 
that we should make Titiis blink as I do for faithfulness 
to history. Here is Dr. Frobisher arranging to use this 
machine to illustrate the book of Chronicles to his Sun- 
day School; and how is he going to do it if you have 
loaded the thing down with modern ideas?” 

“Well,” said the judge, with a downcast look, in which 
stiir there were gleams of cheerfulness, “Fm awful sorry 
if the machine is not exactly what you wanted; but the 
fact is I’m made so that I can’t work backward towards 
the old things ; I have to push forward or stop.' But you 
just wait till you see the machine in action, and you’ll 
change your mind. I want to tell you that you’ve got 
the liveliest catapult for straight business that was ever 
made by the hand of man.” 

At this moment Rufus returned with two sturdy help- 
ers, and when Judge McCann had given directions for 
removing the machine from the wagon, and Captain 


i 82 Captain Bluitt 

Bluitt had designated the spot in the garden where he 
wished to have it placed, the Captain, the judge and the 
minister walked slowly around to the side of the house. 

“I have applied for a patent on that thing,” said the 
judge, as if he had just happened to remember the fact. 

'‘Not a patent on a catapult?” said Dr. Frobisher. 

“Why, certainly !” 

“You can’t do that, judge,” remarked Captain Bluitt. 
“The machine is thousands of years old. It was in- 
vented by Pliny.” 

“By Dionysius the Elder,” said the minister. 

“Well, anyhow,” responded the captain, “it’s a little 
too late for the judge here to put in application for a 
patent. They’ll never allow it.” 

“Not a patent on the general, broad catapult idea,” said 
the judge. “Not that; but on my improved attachments 
and auxiliaries for catapults. They are all brand-new. 
Rome began the thing; Turley completes it.” 

“What kind of attachments, for example, have you?” 
asked Dr. Frobisher. 

“Well,” answered the judge, “to begin with, I cushion 
the throwing-arm on rubber. That improvement is 
mine. Livy never heard of it; nor Titus either.” 

“Never!” exclaimed Dr. Frobisher. 

“Then I introduce my Energizing Fly-Wheel, 
which — ” 

“You haven’t gone and put a fly-wheel on that thing, 
judge, have you?” asked Captain Bluitt, with pain in his 
voice. 

“Yes, of course; my Energizing Reciprocating Fly- 
Wheel, with an accumulator fastened to the Crank-Pin.” 

“What for?” demanded Captain Bluitt. “Titus never 
heard of such a thing as a fly-wheel; do you think he 
did, doctor?” 

“I should hardly think so,” answered Dr. Frobisher. 

“I wish you had left it off,” said the Captain almost 
angrily. 


The March of Invention is^ 

^‘Left it exclaimed the judge. “Why, man alive! 
that would have spoiled the whole thing. That is the 
central point, the vital point, if I may say so, of my whole 
catapult system.’^ 

“Well,'' said Captain Bluitt, with some manifestation 
of irritation, “I ask you what it is for?" 

Rufus and the other burden-bearers came staggering 
by with the catapult upon their shoulders. 

“Put it right down there," said Captain Bluitt, point- 
ing to a place upon the grass. 

“And be careful not to twist that crank-pin," exclaimed 
Judge McCann. “Plere, let me show you." 

The judge put his hand to the machine and with some 
manifestation of affectionate tenderness helped to de- 
posit it safely upon the sod. 

“Now, Rufus," he said, “bring that fly-wheel and the 
wrenches and straps and other things from the wagon." 

Captain Bluitt and Dr. Frobisher sat upon a rustic 
bench to await developments. The judge took off his 
hat and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief as he 
said: 

“You ask what it is for; what the fly-wheel is for; I 
answer, it is to get Momentum! In reflecting upon this 
thing of catapults, I discovered that the highest degree 
of efficiency is attained by judicious use of Momentum. 
If you can discover just how many units of Momentum 
can be developed, I can tell you within a fraction what 
the effective working-capacity of your catapult will be. 
Now, the only way I can think of by which you can 
get Momentum in the best modern shape is by employ- 
ing a fly-wheel, and there never was a fly-wheel tacked 
together that would give you Momentum as readily as 
my Energizing Fly-Wheel with the Reciprocating at- 
tachment. That is it Rufus and Henry are bringing in 
here now," and the judge pointed to the two men, who 
were working their way through the front gate with his 
device. 


,84 Captain Bluitt 

don’t see how you are going to illustrate the Book 
of Chronicles to the Sunday School with that thing, doc- 
tor,” said Captain Bluitt, gloomily. 

don’t clearly see it myself,” replied the clergyman. 

“Let me explain it to them,” said Judge McCann. 
“There is no trouble about it. A child can understand 
it.” 

“Well,” said Captain Bluitt, “it’s beyond me.” 

“Now, don’t get worried about it and talk in that de- 
spondent way,” said the judge, sorrowfully. Wait until 
I open the subject out to you.” 

“Well, then,” exclaimed Captain Bluitt, desperately, 
“go ahead and open it out.” 

“I will,” said the judge. “Now, start at the begin- 
ning. What do you want to do with that machine? 
and the judge pointed to it. 

“I wanted to know how Titus worked it at the siege 
of Jerusalem;” said Captain Bluitt, sadly, but Titus 
never dreamed of a thing like that, with rubber-cushions 
and fly-wheels.” 

“No,” said the judge, with firmness in his voice, “what 
you want to do first of all, with a catapult, is to ener- 
gize it.” 

“Hah!” breathed the Captain, not without an intima- 
tion of contempt. 

“Now, how will you energize it?” 

“Don’t ask me,” said Captain Bluitt, looking out over 
the river. “You’re the only man who knows.” 

“You start with Torsion.” 

“With what?” asked Dr. Frobisher. 

“Torsion. That is the basic principle, if I may say 
so, of the ancient catapult. You get it by twisting and 
twisting the strong rope that you see in the middle 
there.” 

“How do you twist it?” asked the captain. 

“There are many methods. Mine is to use my Ener- 
gizing Fly-Wheel, which helps to store the energy in the 


The March of Invention 185 

Torsion-Rope. Then, when it is stored, the Reciprocat- 
ing Attachment comes into play; the Energizing Fly- 
Wheel starts in the opposite direction, gaining in Mo- 
mentum, and the heavily-loaded rim of the wheel takes 
up the stored force in the Torsion-Rope, — with what 
result?’' 

'T give it up,” said Captain Bluitt, sternly. 

'There can be but one result,” answered the judge. 
'The catapult discharges its missile with deadly effect, 
and the Energizing Fly-Wheel goes right on, impelled 
by Momentum, and gives the Torsion-Rope a twist in 
the opposite direction. You put another missile in the 
Receiver and a reverse action sets in, and the Fly-Wheel 
does the whole business over again.” 

“You mean that it will work right along, automatic- 
ally?” asked the clergyman. 

''Right along. Set it and start it, and it will act with- 
out interruption until you put on the Safety-Brake.” 

“That looks to me like perpetual motion,” said Dr. 
Frobisher. 

“Call it that, if you want to,” answered the judge. “In 
fact it is the discovery of a new force. That is where 
modern science comes in. I made that discovery. The 
force is a combination of Torsion and Momentum, and 
so I call it Torsentum. My patent is on that.” 

“Tormentum; did you say?” asked Captain Bluitt, with 
a touch of bitterness. 

“Torsentum; I worked the thing out on paper first, 
and now I have embodied it in this machine. My idea 
is not to call the machine a catapult, but the McCann 
Multiple Energizing Momentum Engine.” 

“Of what use is it?” asked the minister. 

“I suppose,” said the judge thoughtfully, “it might be 
applied to many kinds of service. It was my notion, for 
one thing, that you could employ it to dig artesian wells.” 

“Titus would have blinked at that, sure enough!” said 
Captain Bluitt. 


i86 


Captain Bluitt 

“If the device fulfills my expectation/’ said the judge, 
“I thought we might get out a prospectus and organize 
a company. That is, if Captain Bluitt is willing. 

“Perfectly willing judge,” said the captain, I surren- 
der all my rights now. If you will take the thing away 
I will find a good carpenter to make me exactly what I 
want.” 

“You will want this,” said the judge, blandly, ‘ when 
you become familiar with it. You won’t object to have 
it remain here, will you, until you see it work?’ 

“O, no!” answered the captain. 

“The fact is,” continued the judge, “I am a little bit 
curious about it myself. Of course I am sure that it 
will work, because the principle is right, but practical 
experiment is the final test.” 

“Do you mean to say you never had it at work yet?” 
asked Captain Bluitt. 

“Of course not. I only drove the last nail at four 
o’clock and I put the machine right on the wagon to 
hurry it down to you. You will see the first victory for 
this great product of human invention.” 

“I’ll bet it won’t go,” said the captain. 

“You might just as well bet that the sun won’t rise 
to-morrow morning,” answered Judge McCann. “I hate 
a man to look on the dark-side of things all the time. 
You wait till I adjust the wheel and the other appliances 
and life ’ll look brighter to you. Rufus, roll that wheel 
over here!” 

Judge McCann removed his coat, and taking up some 
of the tools that had been brought from the wagon, he 
lay them upon the frame of the machine while Rufus and 
Henry lifted the Energizing Reciprocating Fly-Wheel to 
its place. 

“Force it right upon the shaft,” directed the judge; 
and the two men put it into that position. 

Then the judge began to work in earnest, while Rufus 
and his companion stood by watching and ready to help. 


The March of Invention 187 

Captain Bluitt and Dr. Frobisher, from their place 
upon the rustic bench, considered the proceeding with 
curiosity, if not with large hopefulness; and while they 
considered it Walter Drury entered the garden and 
greeted his uncle. 

Captain Bluitt received him heartily and then, present- 
ing him to the clergyman, he said: 

“Dr. Frobisher, this is my nephew, Walter Drury. 
He has just come down from the city to spend Sunday 
with us.” 

When the captain explained to Walter the nature of 
the machine upon which Judge McGann was then con- 
centrating his attention and his energy, Walter laughed 
and said: 

“I was always curious about catapults. I am glad I 
got here just in time.” 

“Of course; everybody is curious about them,” said 
the captain, “and I am delighted to have you with us; 
but the judge, there, has spoiled the machine, in my 
opinion. I didn’t want an American freak; I wanted a 
catapult of the first century.” 

“Don’t be impatient,” said the judge, turning his head 
toward the group while his hands were busy screwing up 
a nut. “Fll have her all ready in a few minutes. Now, 
Rufus, hand me that crank-pin.” 

“Hold it there,” said the judge, “while I put on the 
accumulator.” 

“It seems to me,” said Walter, as the accumulator was 
pushed into position, “that a catapult must have been a 
rather complicated piece of machinery.” 

“The kind that Titus used wasn’t,” said the captain. 

“Titus who?” asked Walter. 

“Titus — the man who beseiged Jerusalem. McGann’s 
catapult would have put him into an early grave. I’m 
disgusted with it.” 

“Maybe it will be better than we think,” said the min- 
ister in an amiable spirit. 


i88 


Captain Bluitt 

‘There she is/^ exclaimed the judge, triumphantly. 
“Everything’s ready. Do you want to put a rnissile of 
any kind in the machine the first time, captain?” 

“I don’t know. Which way would it go?” 

“Any way you want it to go. I can throw a brick or 
a stone half-way across the river for you.” 

Captain Bluitt hesitated, then he said: 

“I think maybe, judge, you’d better be perfectly sure 
first how the machine is ping to behave. I don’t want 
to mutilate any of the neighbors.” ^ 

“O very well,” answered the judge, “just as you 
please; but of course I know perfectly well how it will 
behave; it is absolutely under control. I could hit a 
target at four hundred yards every time. Now, Rufus, 
you and Henry take that handle and turn it round and 
round to the right till I tell you to stop. 

“What are you doing now, judge?” asked Dr. Fro- 
bisher. 

“Putting on the Torsion.” 

“You do it with your hands?” 

“Of course; you must give the machine a start. It 
needs what you might call a primary impulse; then it 
takes care of itself.” 

“You believe the frame will stand the strain?” asked 
Captain Bluitt. 

“Well, unless my calculations are all wrong, it will 
stand four times any pull that can be put on it. It’s 
perfectly safe. Bear down hard on that handle, Rufus; 
don’t be afraid. The Torsion is beginning to tell.” 

“Where is the Momentum?” asked Captain Bluitt, with 
the tone of a man whose faith needs strengthening. 

“Nowhere, now, of course. We’ll get that in the Fly- 
Wheel. Give her three or four more turns, Rufus,” said 
the inventor, as the workmen began to show signs of 
fatigue, “only three or four more.” 

“Now,” said McGann, “let me put on the Safety- 
Brake! There! you can let go Rufus.” 


The March of Invention 189 

"‘Gentlemen,” explained the inventor, as Rufus and 
his companion released their hold upon the handle and 
withdrew in a manner that indicated apprehension, “the 
machine is ready for action. Captain Bluitt, you had 
some regrets because I did not slavishly imitate Titus, 
and Dr. Frobisher, you feared that there would be dimin- 
ished opportunity for instruction for your Sunday 
School. Fix your eyes upon this Multiple Energizing 
Momentum Engine — for that is what it is — and you will 
know in a couple of minutes that Titus wasn’t in the 
game at all, and that if Sunday Schools want to examine 
the wonders of science they can find them here. Now I 
start her!” 

The judge put his hand upon the Safety-Brake and re- 
leased the pinion. At once there was a creak and a 
groan, and the Energizing Reciprocating Fly-Wheel 
began to revolve with tremendous rapidity. A second 
later it slipped from the axle, bounded up and down two 
or three times upon the grass, and then tore across the 
lawn, uprooted several rose-bushes, dashed through the 
fence, across the street, over the river-bank and leaped 
far out into the stream where, after whirling the water 
into foam, it made a final jump into the air, and then 
sank out of sight. 

The doctor and Walter laughed. 

“Was that the Momentum?” inquired Captain Bluitt, 
solemnly. 

Then the doctor and Walter laughed again. 

“Never you mind what it was,” said the judge, sulkily. 
Didn’t I tell you, Rufus, to see that that linchpin was in 
the axle? That’s always the way! Any fool can spoil 
a wise man’s work. Well,” continued the judge, wiping 
his hands on his handkerchief as he approached the 
group, “what’s done is done. There’s as pretty a job 
spoiled just by carelessness as you ever saw; and I don’t 
believe I can afford to get a new fly-wheel.” 

“O never mind!” said Captain Bluitt, sympathetically. 


1 90 Captain Bluitt 

“I believe the catapult is better without a fly-wheel, any- 
way.” 

“It is not worth a cent,” said the judge, ruefully. 

“I think the Sunday School children will care more 
for it this way,” said Dr. Frobisher, “and I should feel 
safer in showing it to them.” 

“You will just leave the machine there, will you?” 
asked Captain Bluitt. 

“For a day or two anyhow,” answered the judge. 
“Would you mind if I should tighten up the torsion 
before we go, so as to keep the rope in shape?” said the 
judge. 

“Certainly. Fix it as you please,” answered Captain 
Bluitt. 

Judge McCann expended some further effort upon the 
engine, and then, as he joined Captain Bluitt and his 
friends, who walked to the garden gate he said: 

“Now, Rufus, you let that machine alone and keep 
everybody away from it, and I’ll come over on Monday 
and see what I can do to repair damages.” 

Next morning, while Captain Bluitt and his sister and 
Walter Drury were at breakfast, they were startled by 
hearing piercing screams from the garden. They arose 
and hurried through the side-door to ascertain what was 
the matter. Emerging, they discovered Rufus and his 
wife standing beneath the great apple-tree, in the upper 
branches of which was lodged, in a disordered condition, 
a boy of nine years. 

“What is the matter Rufus?” asked the Captain anx- 
iously. 

“It’s Archibald, sir!” said Rufus. 

“Archibald! How did he get into the tree?” 

“Judge McCann’s infernal machine throwed him there, 
sir.” 

While Rufus, with a section of clothes-line ascended 
the apple tree with a purpose to rescue his son Archi- 
bald, Captain Bluitt and his companions went over to 


The March of Invention 191 

look at McGann’s Multiple Energizing Momentum 
Engine. 

The cause of Archibald’s precipitation into the apple- 
tree was plainly apparent. The child had climbed upon 
the machine with the Torsion tightly set, and while sitting 
astride of the rubber-cushioned throwing-arm, had put 
his foot upon the Safety-Brake. 

Really it was a victory for McGann; but as Captain 
Bluitt and Walter and Miss Bluitt returned to the house 
to finish breakfast, the Captain said: 

“Puella, I shall tell McGann to-morrow to take that 
thing away. My interest in catapults is not so keen as 
it once was.” 

On Monday morning judge McGann called upon Cap- 
tain Bluitt about nine o’clock, and found him and Miss 
Bluitt sitting upon the front porch while the captain 
looked over a newspaper. 

After greeting his friends, and accepting an invitation 
to be seated. Judge McGann said that he had come 
around to make any final arrangements that the captain 
might prefer for disposing of the catapult. Captain 
Bluitt told the judge of the manner in which the engine 
had dealt with Archibald, and the judge, with a faint 
smile, expressive of the presence in his mind of a degree 
of satisfaction, said: 

‘'Did it actually throw the boy into the tree? I told 
you there was original force in that machine. Imagine 
what it would do if applied to useful industry!” 

"No doubt you are right, judge,” responded the cap- 
tain, "but I am not engaged in useful industry, and I 
am not sufficiently familiar with the useful industries 
around here to know if any of them wants a catapult 
operated by torsion. I must really ask you to take the 
thing away.” 

"Perhaps,” said the judge, clasping his hands over his 
knee, and looking out over the river thoughtfully, "we 


,92 Captain Bluitt 

may be able to get rid of it somehow or other; I don’t 

want it.” „ j 

“How would it do to give it to the poor, suggested 

Miss Bluitt. 

“Could you readjust it,” asked the captain, so that 
it could be introduced to schools for the purpose of dis- 
ciplining boys? It seemed to act very vigorously with 
Archibald yesterday morning.” 

“I hardly think so,” said the judge reflectively. It 
is almost too energetic for that.” 

“It would be perfectly useless, I suppose, for a gas- 
meter, or to blow our church organ?” said Miss Bluitt. 

“Perfectly,” responded the judge.” Wouldn’t do at all. 
The worst of it is,” he continued, mournfully, “there is 
no general, active demand for catapults. You are the 
only man I ever knew who wanted one.” 

“And I don’t want this one,” said Captain Bluitt, 

firmly. „ 

“I know,” said the judge. “You said that before. 
“Have you looked into the Second Book of Chron- 
icles,” said the captain, “to find out what King Uzziah 
did with his second-hand catapults?” 

“I never thought of that,” replied the judge. 

“Sold them at auction, maybe,” said Miss Bluitt. 
“You don’t think the government would buy it to fight 
Indians with, do you?” asked the inventor. 

“I hardly know,” answered the captain, but I m sure 
i{ I were going to fight Indians I wouldn’t care so very 
much to have that catapult with me.” 

“Well, it is too bad,” said the judge, “but I haven’t 
the least idea what to do with that thing. I hate to break 
up a machine that is covered all over with the triumphs 
of inventive genius. Suppose we go out on the lawn 
and have a look at it?” 

Captain Bluitt and his sister and Judge McCann rose 
and walked to the place where the catapult stood. As 
they looked at the machine Davis Cook, the plumber. 


•9J 


The March of Invention 

drove up the street in his wagon. He stopped to glance 
at the catapult. Then he dismounted, hitched his horse 
and came to the fence. Presently he said: 

“May I come in, Captain?” 

“Certainly,” responded Captain Bluitt, in a cheery 
voice, “come right in.” 

When Davis Cook reached the group he looked with 
curiosity at the engine, and asked: 

“What is that. Captain?” 

“A catapult.” 

“What’s it fur?” 

“It was intended to represent an engine of war used 
by the ancient Romans.” 

“How does it work?” 

“You put a great stone or some other kind of missile 
in here,” said Judge McCann, placing his hand on the 
Receiver, “and it is hurled with tremendous force against 
the enemy.” 

“Mighty curious,” said Davis Cook. “Where does 
the power come from?” 

“Torsion,” explained the judge. “Torsion from that 
rope, and Momentum from the fly-wheel; but unfortu- 
nately we had an accident on Saturday and the wheel is 
missing.” 

“I should like to see the thing work,” said Davis 
Cook. 

“Captain,” said Judge McCann, with a touch of eager- 
ness in his manner, “would you care if I should just give 
the thing one trial at throwing?” 

“Well,” said the captain, with a doubting look upon 
his face, “if you will be very careful you might try it just 
once — not more than once.” 

“Cet me a brick-bat, Davis,” said the judge. “Of 
course the real power of the machine can’t be developed 
without the fly-wheel, but maybe I can give you an idea 
of the nature of the performance.” 

Placing the bit of brick in the Receiver, the judge 

13 


,94 Captain Bluitt 

applied himself vigorously to twisting the rope. Having 
struggled with this task until he became much over- 
heated, he put on the Safety-Brake, set the throwing-arm 
and then turning to Captain Bluitt, he said: 

“Which way would you like to have it go?” 

“Out over the river, of course.” 

“Very well! Now watch it.” 

The judge released the brake, and as he did so the 
throwing-arm gave a fierce jump, swerved to the right 
and hurled the brick-bat straight through the garret 
window in the gable of Captain Bluitt’s house. 

Judge McCann abandoned hope. He felt certain that 
the catapult had no future. 

“Captain Bluitt suppressed his anger. Turning to the 
judge he said: 

“Now, judge, that’s enough. We’ll stop right there, 

I think, before the machine becomes actually murderous. 
If Titus’s catapults had been at all like yours Jerusalem, 
in my judgment, wouldn’t have been taken until some- 
where near about 1837. Get it out! Get it out of here, 
to-day, sure!” 

“I will,” said the judge, with much dejection, “and I’ll 
split it into splinters.” 

“You want to get rid of the machine, do you?” asked 
Davis Cook. 

“Yes!” exclaimed Captain Bluitt, vigorously. 

Davis Cook walked around the catapult and looked 
narrowly at it, and patted it here and there, and seemed 
to be engaged in a mental struggle of some kind. 

“Why don’t you raffle it off?” he said at length. 

“No!” said Captain Bluitt. “Don’t stop for that! Cart 
•it away this morning.” 

“Do you want it, Davis?” inquired the judge. 

“Well, not so very bad. I’m a peace man, but if I 
should go to war I’d ruther not pull this thing after me. 
I have a notion, though, to take it off of your hands if I 
can get it for a bargain.” 


The March of Invention 


19? 


“What will you do with it?” asked Miss Bluitt. 

“Why, the thought occurred to me that I might give 
it for a birthday present to my wife.” 

“What would she do with it?” inquired the captain. 

“O, I dunno; but she’s got an oncommon talent fur 
making things over. It might maybe be fixed up for an 
ironing-table, or as a frame for a hen-house.” 

“What will you give for it as it stands?” asked the 
judge. 

Davis Cook again walked slowly around the catapult 
and felt the rope, and examined the timbers, then he 
said: 

“I won’t give no money.” 

“What will you give?” 

Davis Cook stopped, leaned against the Safety-Brake, 
put both hands in his trousers’ pockets and after reflect- 
ing for a moment, said: 

“I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll trade you two setter-pups 
for it and you to pay for carting it to my house.” 

Judge McCann became red and angry, but when he 
saw the stern determination written upon Captain Bluitt’s 
face, he exclaimed: 

“What do you think Titus would have said to that, 
Captain?” 

“He would have said 'take it,’ ” declared the captain. 

“I will!” said the judge. “But mark me! That winds 
me up on classical machinery. I’ll never spend another 
hour on a mechanical idea that is more than two years 
old.” 

The judge walked towards the gate, forgetting in his 
excitement and anger to say farewell to his friends. As 
his hands touched the latch he stopped, and turning to 
the group upon the lawn, he shouted: 

“Davis! You may drown those pups! I don’t want 
’eml” 


CHAPTER XIII 

Educational Influences in Turley 

I N a town so small as Turley it was unavoidable that 
every citizen should have contact and acquaintance 
with all sorts and conditions of men in a manner 
that would have been unlikely if not quite impos- 
sible in a great city. 

A word or a phrase not yet prepared is much needed 
to designate with precision the class-differences that ap- 
pear in an American town under such circumstances. 
The differences of social station and of education are 
there, manifest and indisputable; but they cannot be 
fairly indicated if the humble and less learned folk are 
called the common people, though there is good Scrip- 
tural warrant for that phrase, because some of these 
people would regard the term as offensive, and the per- 
sons who should not be included in it would be shame- 
faced about seeming to convey an intimation that they 
feel themselves to be uncommon. It will not do to speak 
of the upper classes, or the superior classes, or the more 
respectable classes because these terms also are unkind 
and often unjust. Among the common people of Turley, 
if that phrase may be used just once, were men and 
women of really superior worth to some of those who 
claimed higher position; and there were persons of 
wealth in the town who were indisputably vulgar, while 
some persons without wealth and in the narrowest cir- 
cumstances possessed genuine refinement. 

To speak of those in the humble place as plain people 
may serve the purpose until the language is enriched by 
the invention of a more accurate designation; and yet 
(196) 


197 


Education in Turley 

if Turley society should be divided into classes and one 
class should be said to include the plain people, in what 
manner should the characteristic qualities of the other 
class be indicated? 

Necessarily, in Turley, the people of all classes were 
compelled to know each other. They lived in the same 
neighborhoods, they passed upon the street, often many 
times a day. They worshiped and worked in the same 
churches. They belonged to the same church and benev- 
olent societies, and indeed they often helped one another 
in various ways. 

Having such acquaintance and such contact, and such 
common interest, class feeling and class prejudice were 
much softened, if indeed they were not wholly imper- 
ceptible. Men and women in each class perceived in 
men and women of the other class just about the same 
virtues, the same old human nature with its frailties and 
faults and lovableness, as they had themselves, and they 
found that the ancient law of kindness could work down- 
ward as well as upward, and was sure of quick response 
in whichever direction it worked. 

A close observer of the Turley folk declared that he 
was sure the poorer did not, as a rule, envy the richer 
very much. The poor man who worked hard and lived 
in a little house and had heavy anxiety about the day 
when he should be disabled, might feel sometimes that 
his life would be brighter if his toil were lighter and his 
mansion wider and his savings larger; but usually he 
found the wealthier man quick to lend a hand when 
trouble came to the unlucky neighbor, and he perceived 
that in the wide house too there were heavy burdens to 
be borne — burdens of sorrow and sickness and some- 
times the bitterness of death. 

This close observer reached the conclusion that the 
humble man with the calloused hand and grimed visage 
usually found his situation fairly tolerable if the other 
man would consent always to give to him the best 


igs Captain Bluitt 

courtesy he could command. He could endure plain 
food, and a narrow house and a threadbare coat and 
neglect to invite him to social functions, if his prosperous 
and more learned neighbor would always treat him like 
a gentleman. Really this did not seem much to ask; and 
the expectation was quite as creditable to the man who 
entertained it, as disregard of so proper a wish would 
have been discreditable to the man who claimed to be a 
gentleman. 

Down at the bottom of the humble man’s soul was a 
desire that his self-respect should have some tribute; 
and besides, he did have, whether he framed the thought 
in words or not, a perfectly warrantable conviction that 
his manhood had claims to recognition whether upon 
the ground that all of us are God’s creatures or upon 
the ground, more plainly apparent to the unspiritual 
mind, that a citizen with all the political rights that any 
man can have, has a title of respect from a citizen who 
stands in that particular upon an exactly equal footing 
with him. 

If the close observer should have taken the trouble 
to look a little more closely he might have found that, 
lurking in the minds of some of the humbler men, there 
was really a feeling of superiority to men of the other 
class. Clearly there was no looking up in reverence. 
But there was, in the first place, the sense of greater 
power born of the fact that the humbler people, having 
a majority in all the political parties, absolutely con- 
trolled the government of the town; and out of this feel- 
ing developed a sort of conviction that the persons hav- 
ing control really should look after and take care of the 
people who had no power to protect themselves, who 
did not know practical politics, and who were wholly 
unable to manage the more turbulent elements of the 
population, especially where political affairs were con- 
cerned. 

Anybody who should have made a resolute effort to 


199 


Education in Turley 

determine just where the dividing line ran between the 
upper and lower classes in Turley might have found it, 
perhaps, indicated by the speech of the people. The man 
who used precision in speaking and paid attention to 
the rules of syntax and avoided slang, appeared to many 
of his humbler neighbors to draw the line for himself. 
He might be a thoroughly good fellow, but plainly 
enough he was disposed to differentiate himself from the 
bone and sinew of the people, and he might even be sus- 
pected of having a touch of pride. 

At any rate, his accuracy appeared to reflect in a 
measure upon the plain man who was incorrect and 
careless in speech. To the man who always said “We 
ain't went," the other man who said “We have not gone," 
seemed to be straining the language to the point of affec- 
tation ; to be taking a good deal of trouble and making an 
unnecessary fuss about a very trifling thing. 

The man who never rose above “I seen him when he 
done it" could not quite understand why another man 
should engage in the effort required to say “I saw him 
when he did it;" and indeed he regarded him with a light 
feeling of scorn. It looked rather like an attempt to soar 
above the common dead-level, and to put the plain man 
in the wrong. 

The plain man sometimes knew he was wrong when 
he said “I knowed," but “I knowed," and “I seen him." 
and “I done it" were good enough for ordinary people; 
they had a familiar, friendly, good-fellowship air about 
them; they flavored of genuine republicanism that puts 
equality in the first place and holds that one man is as 
good as another. 

If one man is as good as another in political matters, 
why, then, one man's method of speech should be as 
good as another's; and rules of grammar, even if we 
know them, are not half so important as the duty of 
meeting the plain man upon his own ground, without 


200 Captain Bluitt 

attempting to show him that you know any more than 
he does. 

It was an ingenious suggestion made by Mr. Brown, 
principal of the Public School, that, as the dividing line 
between the classes was indicated by correct and in- 
correct speech, the two sets of people might be called 
the parsables and the imparsables; but this notion had 
never been accepted in actual practice. 

In Turley, the politicians and the people did not look 
about them, in election time, for the wisest business men 
to conduct the town’s affairs in the local legislature; nor 
did they seek the citizen having the highest education 
and the widest information to direct the business of the 
public schools. The plain people had the majority in 
both parties, and the sure method of pleasing the major- 
ities was to choose for the places men who knew no 
more and pretended to know no more than the average 
voter. Men of this kind were pleased to have the honor 
that came from holding office, and the voters were 
pleased to have men of their own sort in office and, more 
than all, pleased to demonstrate year after year that they 
actually had control. Like most Americans, they felt 
certain that they could manage the governmental affairs 
as well as anybody could. A strange fate had excluded 
them from directing the mills and railroads and great 
shops; but they would prove by directing public business 
that this exclusion was not a reflection upon their 
capacity, but a mere freak of fortune. 

It was enough to exclude any man from the town 
council that he managed a large business of his own 
successfully; but if this rule might sometimes be broken 
when the treasury of the town got its affairs into a 
tangle, the practice was unvarying which refused to 
permit any man to go upon the School Board who could 
tell an adverb from an interjection or could “bound” 
Indiana when suddenly asked to do so. 

Acquaintance with a dead language was regarded 


201 


Education in Turley 

with particular distrust. The feeling was that there was 
about such a language something mysterious and sinis- 
ter, and that the man who had the knowledge in his mind 
had come into touch with something foreign and un- 
American and, beneath such unpatriotic influences, 
might at any moment drift off into hostility to the old 
flag and hatred of the eagle. 

“When a language is dead, bury it, I say!’’ remarked 
the President of the School Board at the meeting where 
the principal had proposed to introduce the study of 
Latin to the schools. 

The Board refused even to consider the matter. 

This was one reason why Captain Bluitt was not per- 
mitted to find a place in the School Board. 

The people did not complain that he was rich, or that 
he was childless. They liked him because his manner 
was hearty and his grammar disposed to looseness. But 
the fact that he was known to like the Romans and to 
entertain a fondness for — even to make some reckless ad- 
venture into — their language, created prejudice against 
him. 

“The American language,” said Mr. Matlack, Chair- 
man of the School Committee on Higher Education, 
“ought to be good enough for any man.” 

The Turley School Board at all times was an interest- 
ing object for contemplation by persons who desired to 
study the operation of the machinery devised by the State 
government for directing the business connected with 
the instruction of the young. 

It was never more interesting than during the time 
of which this tale is told. Mr. Brown, the principal, 
thought that one of the most enlivening meetings of the 
Board held in that period was that following his intro- 
duction of a plaster bust of Dante to the main school 
room. 

When the regular business of the meeting had been 
disposed of, Mr. Bunner remarked to the President that 


202 


Captain Bluitt 

as the principal of the Schools was present he should 
like to ask him a question or two respecting some mat- 
ters that had attracted Mr. Bunner’s attention. 

The President invited the principal to come forward, 
which he did, and when the principal had expressed 
willingness to offer any explanations that might be de- 
sired, Mr. Bunner said: 

‘Tt is possibly not a thing of much importance, but 1 
noticed that the principal, or somebody has placed the 
bust of an Indian, or at least it looked like an Indian, 
on the shelf in the main school-room. Has the principal 
some notion of teaching the children about Indians?” 

^That,” said the principal, blandly, '‘is the bust of 
Dante, not of an Indian.” 

“O!” exclaimed Mr. Bunner, 'T thought it was the 
head of Tecumseh. It looks like him, anyhow.” 

“I notice,” said the President, "that you call him 
Danty. I don’t know much about him but I always 
thought his name was Dant.”^ 

"Dant-c,” replied the principal. "With the e pro- 
nounced like a.” 

"Wrote poetry, or something, didn’t he? ’ asked the 
president. 

"He was an Italian poet; a very great man.” 

"Wasn’t he a Roman Catholic?” inquired Mr. Mat- 
lack. Mr. Matlack was a member of the Know Nothing 
party and he was haunted night and day by the convic- 
tion that the main purpose of the Pope’s life was to 
undermine the foundations of the American Republic. 

“Well,” said the principal, "I suppose, perhaps, he was. 
You know at that time there was no other — ” 

"Yes, I know,” replied Mr. Matlack. "I know well 
enough they push in everywhere. First a bust, and next 
one thing and then another thing. I’m opposed to it. 
I’d like to know who’s behind this matter of putting the 
bust into the school.” 

"I take the responsibility,” said the principal. "I 


Education in Turley 203 

thought that as he was a famous man and a great poet, 
we might have his likeness before the older children.’’ 

^‘That’s the way it always begins,” said Mr. Matlack, 
looking as if the Republic were already lost. “Give them 
an inch to begin with and they’ll take an ell.” 

“I don’t believe the tax-payers want the children 
taught poetry anyhow,” said Mr. Bunner. “What they 
want is just a plain practical education, unless I’m mis- 
taken. The children had a good deal better be learnin’ 
figgers and spellin’, than lookin’ at Dant, in my opinion.” 

“While the principal is here,” said Director Robinson, 
“I should like to ask what is this metric system that I 
find some of the children trying to learn?” 

The principal explained the metric svstem. 

“Nothing to do with hymns, with long metre and 
short metre and hallelujah metres?” asked Director Rob- 
inson, who sang in the Baptist choir. 

The principal said it had not. 

“Did I understand you to say,” inquired Mr. Matlack, 
“that the system came from France?” 

“Yes,” responded the principal. 

“There’s another queer move,” said Mr. Matlack, with 
strong emphasis. “You start in with an Italian poet, 
Dant, and then you fetch along a French system with 
names nobody can understand, and after a while I 
reckon you’ll be flying the British flag in the front yard 
and singing God Save the Queen. There’s a good deal 
too much foreign influence. This country’s good enough 
for me. I’m an American and this is an American 
school. I say fly the American flag and sing American 
songs and have American systems and shove the for- 
eigners out. We can run our own business. Why don’t 
you get a bust of General Washington?” 

Director Ferguson asked if he might be permitted to 
interrogate the principal, and having obtained permis- 
sion he asked: 

“Don’t you think we are going just a little too fast?” 


204 


Captain Bluitt 


what particular?” inquired the principal. 

'‘Well, in putting in this metric system, just at this 

time, for example.” , ^ 

“I think myself,” interposed the^ president, that the 
movement is somewhat permature. ^ 

"And then,” continued Director Ferguson, I found 
my boy last night rassling with algebra and nearly cry- 
ing over it. I told him to drop it, and I’d have it dropped 
in the school if I run the school. I never knowed no 
algebra and I’ll be satisfied if my boy makes out as well 

as I did.” . ^ ^ 

The principal attempted briefly to indicate the nature 

and purposes of algebra. ... -r- 

“Xhat’s all very well, Mr. Brown,” said Director Fer- 
guson. “It’s your business of course to care for such 
things, but we’re a practical people, with no nonsense 
about us. Figgers is for figgerin’, and letters is for 
letterin’. There’s no use of tryin’ to figger with letters 
while there’s plenty of figgers to figger with. Now is 
there?” 

"You see” — ^began the principal. 

"I don’t care to argue about it,” said Mr. Ferguson, 
interrupting him, "but the fact is you can’t any more 
substract a from b, like my boy was tryin’ to do last 
night, than you can substract the dinner-bell from the 
poker. It ain’t in the nature of things.” 

The principal did not reply. 

"My boy, also, says,” continued Mr. Ferguson, "that 
his teacher won’t allow him to say knowed. Why not?” 
"Knowed?” asked the principal. "K-n-o-w-e-d?” 
"Yes, knowed. He says the teacher tried to make him 

say knew.” ^ 

"Of course,” said the principal. "Know, knew. That s 
right, there is no such word as knowed.” 

"I guess there is,” answered Director Ferguson, with 
a scornful laugh. 

"I guess so, too,” echoed Mr. Matlack, "and it’s a 


Education in Turley 205 

good deal better to say knowed than to be putting Dant 
up on the shelf and bringing the children’s minds under 
European influences.” 

“Knowed is not good English,” said the principal. 

“Maybe not,” said Mr. Matlack, “but it’s good Ameri- 
can and that’s the best there is.” 

“You say mowed,” asked Mr. Ferguson,” and rowed, 
and show, showed, and stow, stowed and glow, glowed, 
don’t you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Very well then, you say know, knowed, and grow, 
growed, and hoe, hoed.” 

And Director Ferguson tipped back His chair and 
looked around him like a man who has just won a great 
victory. 

The principal gazed at the ceiling. 

“Now that we are on these subjects,” said the presi- 
dent, “Mr. Brown will pardon me if I bring up another 
little matter. I don’t want to push him too hard, but — ” 

“O, go ahead! It’s all right,” said the principal. 

“I’ve had complaints from some parents,” said the 
president, “about this mythology that’s been put into 
the course of studies.” 

“What did they complain of?” asked the principal. 

“Well, John Folker said to me that he understood that 
the whole thing is a pack of lies. Is that so?” 

“Well, of course it’s not exactly true,” responded the 
principal. “It represents the beliefs of ancient peoples 
respecting — ” 

“It’s all false then?” asked Director Ferguson. 

“I suppose you might say that, but — ” 

“No buts about it, Mr. Brown. If it’s false it’s false. 
Why should we teach children false things when there 
is so much truth that they ought to know.” 

“The characters of mythology,” said the principal, 
“run through all literature, ancient and modern. They 
are referred to everywhere so that we can hardly under- 


206 


Captain Bluitt 

stand the most frequent references, in poetry for ex- 
ample, unless we know these characters.” 

‘That’s what I say; drop poetry,” remarked Mr. 
Bunner. 

“Mythology,” said the principal, “represents the re- 
ligion of the old Greeks and it has historical interest apart 
from its other interest.” 

“Came from Greece did you say?” asked Mr. Matlack. 

“Yes.” 

Mr. Matlack forced his hands violently down deep into 
his trouser pockets and scowled: 

“Italian and French and Greek! The whole school 
just jammed full of foreign influences! The next thing 
you know we’ll have Russia taking a hand and Turkey. 
Greek religion, too, mind you! Dant to start with, with 
the Pope behind him, and now Greek religion that owns 
up to being just barefaced lies! Blamed if those children 
’ll know whether they’re Americans or not, when they’ve 
growed up.” 

The remarkable fact was that the Turley Public 
Schools were very good schools indeed, for the reason 
that the principal was a competent man, and the teachers 
could not secure appointment unless they should pass 
examinations conducted by the County Superintendent, 
also a competent man, who directed and largely con- 
trolled the line of study that was pursued. 

The functions of the Board were rather closely con- 
fined to management of the financial business of the 
schools and fairness requires the admission that this was 
very well done. 

Besides the Public Schools, there were in Turley other 
educational influences of no small importance, such as 
the Star Lecture Course, which had renewed popular 
favor every succeeding winter; the two young men’s 
literary societies; the Science Club with a membership 
including all the skeptics and persons who had really 
soaring intellects; the Garrick Dramatic Society, com- 


207 


Education in Turley 

posed of young men and young women who presented 
in a charming manner light dramas for the entertain- 
ment of Turley and the Cooking School, that held ses- 
sions all through the cold weather. 

But, in fact, the impression prevailed among the mem- 
bers that altogether the foremost Educational Influence 
in that part of the state, if not of the nation, was the 
Women’s General Culture Club, composed of women 
of the best social standing, and having for its purpose 
(to state the fact in simplest terms) the consideration of 
anything that would tend to enrich and cultivate Mind. 

Mrs. Frobisher was the zealous and active president 
of this important organization and there can be no doubt 
that its place of meeting was an Intellectual Centre of 
immense value in helping Turley to keep itself abreast 
with the forward movement of the Thought of the world. 

No report of one meeting of this august body could 
give any notion of the advanced character of its discus- 
sions and its work, and from the mass of valuable papers 
prepared by the secretary and printed in the volumes 
entitled Transactions, it may be well to select certain 
of the minutes which show in what manner the Culture 
Society was accustomed to deal with matters not abso- 
lutely intellectual. 

The meeting to which reference was made was held 
late in January, and it was largely attended. 

President Frobisher in the chair: 

Minutes of the last meeting were read and approved. 

The treasurer’s report was read and approved. 

The president in opening the session expressed deep 
regret that the illness of Mrs. Dubois forbade her to 
be present to read the paper prepared by her at the 
special request of the president upon the subject of the 
Higher Intellectual Life, which had excited a discus- 
sion of so interesting a nature at the last meeting. She 
felt disinclined to take up the matter during the present 
session for she felt confident Mrs. Dubois would be in 


2o8 


Captain Bluitt 

attendance next week, when full consideration could be 
given to the theme. 

In the absence of any important regular business the 
president thought she might perhaps be permitted to 
direct the attention of the Society to a communication 
received by her yesterday from the Secretary of the 
Woman’s Department of the Association for the Pro- 
hibition of unkind treatment of Brute Beasts, in the city 
of X. If no objection should be made, the secretary 
will proceed to read this letter. 

The secretary then presented the letter, which asked, 
first, that the Turley General Culture Society would take 
up and consider the question whether the growing em- 
ployment of Incubators with steam-heat for the hatching 
of chickens might not properly excite the vigorous oppo- 
sition of persons who desired to prevent unkind treat- 
ment of animals and to secure for them uniform tender- 
ness of treatment. The practice of removing eggs from 
the nest, and from the natural processes of incubation 
supplied by the hen, the producer of the eggs, is be- 
coming more and more common; and while the society 
forwarding the communication did not desire to encour- 
age that excess of zeal which would pursue trifling 
causes of complaint, the feeling among the members is 
that as the number of domestic fowls is very large and 
their feelings presumably are not so wanting in sensi- 
tiveness as to warrant complete disregard of them, there 
is at least reason for discussion of the matter by humane 
persons whose minds revolt at any act of unkindness 
towards these helpless friends of man. 

Interrupting the reading af the letter, Puella Bluitt 
said she could hardly regard this matter as having any 
considerable claim upon the attention of a society de- 
voted to general culture. She would not willingly 
wound the humblest creature or sanction anything likely 
to inflict the smallest pain; but she asserted with the 
confidence of prolonged experience in the raising and 


209 


Education in Turley 

care of poultry that the domestic hen cared little whether 
certain eggs were committed to her functions or not. 
Few animals have less sentiment than hens. She had 
known hens to sit for weeks upon porcelain eggs and 
even portions of brick, and so far as could be perceived 
with perfect indifference to the result. 

“But how do you know how the hen in her inner con- 
sciousness may have felt?” asked Florabella Burns. 

Puella Bluitt retorted that while the study of the inner 
consciousness of hens had never largely engaged her 
attention, she felt sure that such consciousness could 
never be sufficiently vivid as to produce genuine suffer- 
ing. Possibly the hen, under such conditions, might 
have yearnings — undefined yearnings — after something 
it knew not what; but in her view the worst feeling that 
could be experienced would be only a vague kind of 
disappointment, and it really seemed to her that a society 
for general culture would be going very far out of its 
way to devote much time and intellectual energy to an 
attempt to measure and to sympathize with the possible 
chagrin of a hen. 

Florabella Burns was about to take the floor when 
the secretary interposed with the remark that she had 
not yet read the last sentence of the letter. This gave 
the reason why the society in the city had taken up the 
matter. The feelings of the adult hen had had no con- 
sideration. The proposition of the society was based 
wholly upon solicitude for the chickens yet unborn. 

“Why,” asked Florabella Burns, “should there be any 
more solicitude for a little chicken hatched by an incu- 
bator than for a little chicken hatched by a hen?” 

“The correspondent society,” said the secretary, “has 
been deeply touched by the indisputable circumstance 
that the little chickens hatched in the incubator can 
never know a mother’s love.” 

Murmurs of sympathy were heard all around the 
room. 


14 


210 


Captain Bluitt 

Florabella Burns said it was outrageous. 

Puella Bluitt said this was to her a new thought, im- 
pressive and affecting, and she was sure the society 
should take action at once. 

Mrs. Pauline Johnson offered a plea for caution, bhe 
protested against precipitate action. Let us be sure of 
our ground before we commit the society to any line of 
policy with respect to the subject. Whether the or- 
phaned chickens were less or more unhappy under the 
conditions supplied by the circumstances of their birth, 
nobody really knows. Possibly in many cases they may 
be in fact better off than if the hen which would natur- 
ally have superintended the hatching had not been par- 
ticularly judicious in the matter of rearing her young. 
Besides, something is to be said for man. Chickens are 
an important food-product and any application of scien- 
tific principles which tended to enlarge the supply must 
not be lightly dealt with. 

Mrs. Sarah Porch said that she thought this view 
sordid. The total question is, do the young fowls suffer? 
If they do, surely no consideration of money or appetite 
should be permitted to forbid interference in their behalf. 

After a general expression of opinion upon the part of 
the members, the secretary said that a further commu- 
nication upon another but perhaps kindred subject had 
been received from the society in the city, and she asked 
if she might read it so that, if the matters should be re- 
ferred to a committee, the two letters might go over 
together. 

No objection being made, the secretary proceeded to 
read a letter which explained that the city society had 
encountered rather singular embarrassment in dealing 
with a case of seeming cruelty to animals in the Zoolog- 
ical Garden. The vice president, while visiting the 
Garden recently with some children, had been shocked 
to observe that the boa-constrictors are fed with live rab- 
bits. After observing with feelings of horror the mani- 


21 1 


Education in Turley 

fest suflfering of the rabbits from terror, she had hurried 
home to call a meeting of the Executive Committee, 
which instantly adopted resolutions indignantly protest- 
ing against the practice of giving live rabbits to the ser- 
pents. These resolutions were sent to the president of 
the Zoo Society, and steps were taken to adopt legal 
measures to restrain the practice if the request of the 
Executive Committee should not be promptly heeded. 

To the pain and surprise of the committee a courteous 
communication was received the next day from the presi- 
dent, explaining that the boa-constrictors cannot eat 
dead animals. If offered dead food the snakes them- 
selves will perish from hunger. The society therefore 
found itself in this extraordinary and most distressing 
quandary: If it averts suffering from the rabbits it will 
inflict suffering upon the snakes. It has a duty to both 
kinds of animals and the difficulty is to determine in 
what direction that duty lies. 

Mrs. O’Gorman said she perceived no difficulty. She 
would far rather let all the snakes die than to place one 
dear little rabbit in misery. 

Mrs. Gwinnett begged, however, to urge that there is 
no more dreadful method of producing death than by 
starvation and it seemed to her a very strange perversion 
of the functions of a society organized for the express 
purpose of averting suffering from animals that it should 
arrange deliberately to inflict upon any brute beast the 
agonies of death from hunger. 

After prolonged discussion the following resolution 
was adopted unanimously and with enthusiasm: 

Resolved, That the Turley Society for General Culture 
recommend the city society to ascertain if the boa-con- 
strictors cannot be sustained in a condition of health by 
eating mice and if so, to urge the substitution of rats 
and mice for rabbits. 

The president then suggested that while the society is 
dealing with subjects of this nature it might not waste 


212 


Captain Bluitt 

time if it should take up and discuss the cruel practice 
of docking horses’ tails. 

The debate that followed developed much unanimity 
of feeling against the practice referred to; but after sev- 
eral members had spoken, Stella Bluitt, in giving her 
reasons for objecting to the abbreviation of horses’ tails, 
said that an animal has few methods of giving visible 
expression to its feelings. Nature has provided, in a 
very wonderful way, that the movement of the tail com- 
monly known as wagging shall supply such expression^ 
and that to remove the part which is the medium of 
giving voice as it were to the emotions seemed to her a 
proceeding of the cruelest character. 

Florabella Burns rose to ask if she understood the 
speaker to intend to indicate that horses wag their tails? 

“Assuredly!” replied Miss Bluitt. 

“Never!” exclaimed Mrs. Burns. 

“I have seen them do it.” 

“You are mistaken; what you regard as wagging is 
nothing but a movement for driving off flies.” 

“You may interpret it as you will,” replied Miss Bluitt. 
“I interpret it as a demonstration signifying gladness. 
I have seen cows wag their tails in the same manner, 
under pleasant impulses, and other animals ‘also; 
monkeys and birds. I have no doubt the rabbits of 
which we have been speaking do the very same thing 
when they are in good spirits.” 

“Rabbits have no tails,” said the president, ‘'or no 
tails worth speaking of.” 

“Very well,” responded Miss Bluitt, “they wag what 
they have. Everybody has witnessed the spectacle.” 

“I do trust,” said Mrs. Brown, “that this society de- 
voted to the culture of the human intellect along general 
lines will not make itself ridiculous. If we shall go 
before the community as investigators of the maternal 
yearnings of hens and of the sentimental impulses which 
urge rabbits to wag their alleged tails, I am afraid we 


Education in Turley 213 

shall simply excite derision.” Mrs. Brown then moved 
to lay upon the table any further references to the sub- 
ject under consideration and the motion was carried. 

Pending the motion to adjourn, Miss Bluitt begged 
permission to state that she held in her hand an invita- 
tion from Mr. Irwin McGann inviting the members of 
the society to visit his studio to witness the operation of 
his Electric Motor. 

Miss Bluitt remarked that she saw the smiles that had 
come upon the faces of the members as they heard this 
invitation read, but she begged to assure them that this 
remarkable invention, which she herself had regarded 
as a complete failure, was now actually in full operation 
and could be pronounced a triumphant success. 

Upon motion the invitation was accepted with thanks 

and the meeting adjourned, 


CHAPTER XIV 

Into the New World which is the Old 

M any times as the winter went rolling by Walter 
Drury resolved that he would find an oppor- 
tunity to say to Dorothea Hamilton the words 
that would permit the long restrained flood of 
feeling to pour forth; but just the right opportunity 
never came. He had met her at the house of Mrs. Burns 
and had walked home with her, but a confession of love 
seemed to require some better place than the street for 
its making, and when they reached her house, and when 
he called at her house, either young Frobisher was there 
upon a most frivolous pretence to see Dorothea about 
the church music, or Mrs. Gridley or some other neigh- 
bor had dropped in to spend the evening, or papa re- 
mained in the parlor with persistence that had in it some- 
thing almost maddening for a lover. Walter strongly 
suspected papa of entertaining a grim and shameless 
purpose to keep himself in the way so that love’s young 
dream might have no realization. 

Vexed and disappointed that he could not speak to the 
girl of his passion, he thought to write to her about it. 
In his letters he had said indeed almost everything but 
just the plain '‘I love you;” why not in this manner 
finally make the avowal which Fate seemed to say he 
should not make with his lips? He need not wait for 
that opportunity. Any day would be a good day. 

But, upon reflection, this seemed not the very nicest 
method of expressing for the first time affection for a 
woman. It might even have an appearance of cowardice. 
How much better, how much more romantic and suit- 

(214) 


Into the New World 21^ 

able, to stand face to face with her and to look into the 
eyes that were always beautiful and into which he hoped 
to see a new light come as his soul went out to meet 
her soul? 

He did, in fact, three Or four times begin letters con- 
taining a proposal; but he tore them up. They seemed 
stilted and artificial and as if he were not really in earnest. 

No, the manly way, the true-lover way, was to speak 
to her. Rapture by mail really might be said to lack 
some of the best qualities of rapture. He would go down 
once more to Turley and would deliberately beforehand 
prepare a situation in which he could ^express himself 
How much he regretted having neglected to make an 
avowal while they were out driving together in the 
autumn? 

And now the spring had come, and soon the summer 
would be here. How foolish he was to defer the time 
of his perfect happiness. If indeed she loved him she 
would have a right to believe he did not care for her 
so very much; and perhaps some other and less delib- 
erate suitor might appear. Young Frobisher, he re- 
membered, appeared to have elements of impetuosity. 
Propinquity, he knew, counts for much in these matters, 
and propinquity to Dorothea Hamilton, if one might be 
permitted to judge from appearances, was getting to be 
the main purpose of the existence of Lochinvar Fro- 
bisher. And he was a good-looking fellow — or pretty 
good-looking, Walter thought, for a man of just that 
kind; a man of small intellectual calibre. 

Walter had always disliked young Frobisher’s habit 
of hovering about the Hamilton house, and of hovering 
about Dorothea under the shallow pretext of consider- 
ing the choir matters. Why didn’t he hover over the fat 
bass-singer or the singularly homely first-soprano? The 
man was in love with her, and how could Walter know 
for sure that Dorothea cared so much for Walter Drury 
that she might not, while smarting from his neglect, or 


.2i 6 Captain Bluitt 

his refusal to break his silence, fling herself into the arms 
of Frobisher? 

Walter laughed a little hit to himself as he considered 
how well assured in fact he was that the encircling arms 
of the minister’s son would never clasp so fair an object; 
but still, he must indeed speak to her. She had a right 
to expect that he would do that soon if he had any pas- 
sion in his soul. 

When the sweet, warm days of early May were cover- 
ing the earth with beauty and nature was rejoicing with 
grass and foliage and flowers that the desolate winter 
had passed, Walter ran down to Turley one morning 
when his work was done upon his journal and stopping 
at the Hamilton house for a moment to speak to Doro- 
thea, went onward to Captain Bluitt’s dwelling. 

He had written to her that he would come and she 
had answered that she would be ready. And so, after 
greeting his uncle and his aunt, he called Rufus, and 
he and Rufus went down the steps upon the side of the 
river Bank to the beach below, followed by Captain 
Bluitt, who felt like supervising this small nautical 
operation. 

They unlocked the boat-house, and Rufus took down 
the oars, and brought the cushions from the locker, and 
hunted up the row-locks, and baled out the few pailfuls 
of water that were in the boat. 

And when all was ready and the boat was as clean 
and tidy and pretty as a boat can be, Rufus and Walter 
pushed it out into the water and tied it to the post near 
the steps at the end of the little pier. 

As they did so, the captain, who was beginning to feel 
as if he should like to go along if the young people were 
only married and clear past the period when three people 
are “no company,” turned his head and said “Here she 
comes,” and he and Walter and Rufus saw a maiden 
coming down the Bank steps in the most charming of 
all spring dresses and in a spring bonnet of really sur- 


217 


Into the New World 

passing loveliness, carrying in her hand a parasol and 
with a smiling face more beautiful than anything within 
range of vision on the most beautiful day of the year. 

She greeted the captain and Walter and Rufus and^ 
thanked the captain most graciously when he said. 

“I hope you will have a fine time; it is a perfect day for 
the water.” 

Then she sat upon the red cushion in the stem of 
the boat, while Walter shipped the oars as Rufus pushed 
the little craft away from the pier; and as Walter bent to 
his task and the boat glided out upon the surface of the 
shining water, Rufus shut the doors of the boat-house, 
and went homeward to tell Hannah about it, and the 
captain, gazing after them for a while, turned at last 
upon his heel and said: 

“What a fool I was not to marry when I was young! 

I have a great notion to do so yet.” 

Dorothea watched the rower as with strong hands he 
swept the oars through the water until the dainty boat 
fairly danced across the waves, and she thought how 
handsome he was, and what manly strength and skill he 
had, and how wise and learned and gifted he was, and 
how forlorn and desolate her life would be could she not 
sometimes hear from him in those dear letters and some- 
times be with him. 

Now and then he stopped rowing and held the oars 
out of the water that the boat might drift, that he might 
enjoy the scene with her, that he migh talk with her and 
look at her. 

How gloriously beautiful she seemed sitting there in 
the after-part of the boat! The great day had come for 
him. Before they came that way again he would know 
her mind. They would begin in that boat a journey 
which would be made together so long as life should last, 
or he would come back a broken-hearted man to go 
alone along a way that would be sorrowful beyond all 
reach of sorrow that he had ever known. 


2i 8 Captain Bluitt 

'‘Why is it/' he said to her as he paused from his ex- 
ercise, “that water always adds so much to the beauty 
of natural scenery? This Turley view would be nothing 
without the river/' 

“Is it not beautiful?" she answered. 

“Whether it be a river or a lake, or a rippling stream 
or a water-fall, the presence of water never fails to make 
the landscape more lovely. I wonder just why? Water 
in a cup or a basin or a puddle is not especially attrac- 
tive. Water? Why is it just a colorless fluid, H2O; I 
don't quite understand it." 

“Nor I," said Dorothea, “but why should we try to 
analyze it? We don't care that it is H2O, but we do 
care that it is charming to look at." 

“And useful to boil things in," said Walter, “and to 
keep our bodies from shriveling up: It is a serious 
thing, isn't it, to think that our bodies are two-thirds 
water? Maybe that is why we like to look at it so much." 

“It is just as if you met one of your relatives, you 
mean?" 

“Something like that. But then if the earth is our 
mother, we are brother and sister to the rocks and the 
grass, and, and, well, and to the mud, also, aren’t we?" 

“The mud clings to us like a very fond relation, some- 
times," said Dorothea, “as it did to you, for instance, the 
first day I met you and you walked by the side of the 
carriage." 

“I shall never forget that day,” replied Walter; “I 
thought it was a great day for me." 

. “This is a better one, though, isn’t it? Drifting oyer 
the water is so much more delightful than any motion 
upon land. I wish I could row.” 

“Will you try?" 

“If you will let me. But I am afraid I can't do it very 
well.” 

Walter drew in the oars, and giving her his hand, she 


Into the New World 219 

stepped over the thwart and took his place while he sat 
upon the cushion in the stem. 

She dipped the oars in the water and began to row 
with awkwardness which he thought charming. 

“Were you intending to go up or down the river?” he 
asked presently. 

She stopped and looked seriously at him, then at the 
river-bank, and then she said: 

“Didn’t you say we should row down to Graver’s 
Point?” 

“That was my idea.” 

“Well, then?” 

“The reason I spoke was that you first started up th6 
river and then you appeared to change your mind and 
headed out to sea.” 

She laughed, prettily. 

“I told you I did not know how to row.” 

“How would it do for you to take one oar while I sit 
beside you and row with the other?” 

“Very nicely.” 

Walter thought that would be the most delightful 
method of rowing that could be devised; and so, sitting 
side by side, and very happy, they sent the boat onward 
to the Point. 

The bow was grounded upon the sand-beach close by 
the rocks, and Walter, leaping out, pulled the bow far 
up on the sand, then, helping his companion to disem- 
bark, he took out the anchor and carried it from the 
water’s-edge and planted it where it would safely hold 
the boat. 

They clambered up the path that ran along the side of 
the promontory, toward the highway at the rear, and 
soon they came out upon the little Park that crowned 
the summit. 

No one was there. The grass was fresh and sweet 
and bright with the vivid green of spring-time and the 


220 


Captain Bluitt 


trees had their first glory of leaves and the birds were 
noisy and active and the soft wind blew from the south. 

As they walked slowly along the pathway and looked 
about them, Dorothea said: 

*‘Do you remember that we said as we stood here last 
autumn that verdure was tame in comparison with the 
glory of the crimson and the gold that flamed from the 
trees and the hills? But it does not seem so now, 
does it?” 

“No, we could not wish for anything more beautiful 
than this,” said Walter; “but in truth there is no com- 
parison. Each season has its own loveliness and all are 
lovely.” 

“We are not perfectly conscious of it, when we are 
very young,” she said. “We enjoy the out-of-door 
things then, but we do not know or think why.” 

“So it will be all through life, I think,” responded 
Walter, “the larger knowledge gives clearer insight and 
keener pleasure. Wouldn’t it be queer if we two, now, in 
our youth, could have all that experience will have taught 
us when we shall be old?” 

“I’m afraid it would not be half so much fun,” said 
Dorothea. “I know if you were wise with the wisdom of 
eighty years you would scare me. I like young folks 
to be young.” 

“That is Nature’s way, too. But what I mean is that 
it would be pleasant to see as clearly as we shall see 
when we have the higher power of vision.” 

“Maybe so.” - 

They seated themselves upon the bench Tvhencejthey^ 
could look towards the cliff and the river. ^ 

“When I first read Romeo and Juliet,” said Walter, “I 
was not much more than a boy. It seemed to me to be 
a lot of foolish, lovesick nonsense; something to laugh 
at. But the time came when as I read that play I was 
able to perceive that it is a tremendous tragedy of human 


22 


Into the New World 

passion, of the master-passion. The man who wrote 
that saw deep into the heart of things.’" 

‘T have not read it for a long time,” she said. 

'T witnessed a performance of the play last winter,” 
continued Walter, “but I did not like it.” 

“Why?” 

“O, well, I do not care much for any of Shakespeare’s 
plays upon the stage; and this one — ! Why, the tawdry 
finery of the actors, the sham of the scenery, the very 
physical representation of the most spiritual of spiritual 
things, made the performance seem coarse and vulgar. 
It wiped all the bloom from the poem. It robbdd the 
fragrant flower of its sweet perfume.” 

“I should not like it, I think.” 

She felt then that she should not like anything, no 
matter what, that Walter disliked. 

“You remember,” he said, “that Romeo thinks he is 
in love with another woman; but the first glimpse he 
has of Juliet shows him that he did not know himself. 
He loves her the very instant he sees her. If I had 
thought of it at all, when I first read the play, I should 
have thought this merely the poet’s fancy; an invention 
without counterpart in real life. Do you know when I 
was at Uncle Bluitt’s house, the first Sunday I saw you., 
he said to me ‘when a man and a woman who are in- 
tended for each other first meet, they know each other 
instantly as intended for each other.’ ” 

“Do you believe it?” asked Dorothea, without looking 
at him. Her hands were folded upon her lap, and her 
eyes were upon the grass at her feet. 

“Believe it!” exclaimed Walter, “I feel sure that the 
truest true love is born in that way. There are two souls, 
•but they are only half souls; each half knows the other; 
and they fly together.” 

“Perhaps that is God’s way,” she said, 
i - “Yes; ‘they two shall be one flesh;’ more than ithat, 
one spirit — one spiritual nature.” ; 


222 Captain Bluitt 

“I have heard of such things/’ said Dorothea. 

‘‘But I know of an instance; I can tell you of one/’ 
he said. 

“Well?” 

“You will listen?” 

“O yes!” 

“On a summer morning not long ago a man who 
cared only for himself and did not know if ever he should 
care for another, wandered without a thought of worship 
or of adventure into a church in a country town. He 
sat down and looked about and thought it all very 
stupid, until suddenly he saw the face of a girl across 
the room. He was strangely attracted by her, but pres- 
ently she rose and began to sing, and before her voice 
was hushed he loved her. He did not know her name, 
he could not see her with perfect distinctness, but, borne 
in upon his soul was the conviction that her life somehow 
was involved with his. He gained her acquaintance and 
knew her well at last, and every day he lived he loved 
her better and better and better; and that woman my 
dear was you!” 

She had her eyes still upon the ground and her head 
was inclined forward. She did not answer. For a 
moment there was silence. 

“I wish I knew that you loved me so much,” he said. 

She put her hand in his, and looked him full in the 
face, and there was tearfulness in the smile she gave 
him. 

“I love you dearly,” she said. 

He kissed her, still holding her hand. 

“And, O how strange,” she continued, “I felt from the 
very first, as you did, that we belonged to each other. 
Yes, dear, it is God who has given you to me. No man 
shall put us asunder.” 

“And I will try so hard to make you happy.” 

“I am happy now,” she said, “I did not know there 
was such happiness in the world.” 


Into the New World 223 

“And surely/’ he said, “it will be so always* if we love 
each other dearly. What is happiness? Love! I have 
heard so often, but I never even guessed the meaning of 
the words.” 

“Yes, always,” she answered, echoing his words. 

Still he fondled her hand, looking at it and stroking it. 

“And if any dark days shall come, and I suppose they 
must,” said Walter, “we will make them seem bright 
by our affection.” 

“They will not be dark for me if you are there,” she 
said, tenderly, smiling upon him. 

“I wonder,” he continued, “if old married people — 
people who have been married many, many years, love 
each other as much as they did at first— as we do?” 

“They say,” she answered, “that when there is true 
spiritual union — and ours will be that, will it not, dear- 
est? — that the two grow more and more alike, until their 
very faces have the same appearance.” 

“Wonderful, isn’t it?” 

“O no!” she said, “not wonderful, excepting that en- 
tire spiritual union is wonderful. For if I love you 
dearly I shall try to be like you, and you will love me and 
strive to resemble me, and so, at the last, shall we not 
indeed be one?” 

“Yes,” responded Walter, reflectively, “one! We 
grow towards each other or we grow apart, I suppose?” 

“Apart!” she exclaimed, with tremor in her voice. 
“Oh, not that! Not that! I should die if you should 
turn away from me! No! I could not live.” 

He put his arm about her. 

“There is no fear of that my dearest,” he said. “The 
strange, irresistible impulse that drove me to you — how 
marvelous it was! — came from the very centre of my 
soul. It saw its own in you.” 

“The impulse was Divine.” 

“Yes; and it is infinite — it is for eternity!” 

They sat there, happy, the sunshine of the soft spring 


224 


Captain Bluitt 

day more glorious, the sweetness of re-born Nature more 
acutely sweet because there was in their souls such joy 
as language cannot express. 

*‘Do you remember,” he said at last, ''those lines about 
two lovers? 

“And on her lover’s arm she leant, 

And round her waist she felt it fold. 

And so across the hills they went 
In that new world, which is the old.” 

"Do you remember that?” 

"O yes,” she said, as she clasped his hand more 
closely. "And the next verse?” 

Walter repeated it. 

“Across the hills and far away 

Beyond their utmost purple rim, 

And deep into the dying day 
The happy Princess followed him I” 

"And you, dearest are the Princess.” 

"Yes, yes!” she answered, smiling and looking into 
his face, "a happy princess indeed; and I will follow you, 
and love you. I would suffer for you and die for you.” 

He kissed her, and they rose and hand in hand looked 
toward the hills on the far horizon. 

Then they walked slowly toward the road, her hand 
upon his arm, two conquerors, both triumphant, both 
yielding themselves to perfect bliss. 

Around by the road and down by the gentle incline 
beyond the cliff, that led to the river, they descended and 
he said: 

"I could stay here forever, but we must go home 
again.” So she entered the boat and he pushed it into 
the stream and clambered into it and took the oars. 

He permitted the little craft to drift for a while, as he 
sat there looking at her. Then he said, as if he could 
hardly bear to break the spell that both were under : 


Into the New World 22 ^ 

“Will your father and mother accept me dear?” 

The look of happiness passed from her face. She had 
been so entranced by her joy that she had forgotten other 
things. 

“Mother will, I know. But father! I am not sure. It 
is dreadful to, say so, but I fear he has prejudice against 
you.” 

“I felt so,” said Walter, “but it is unreasonable and I 
believe I can overcome it.” 

“O, I do hope so,” she answered, “he is most kind 
and afifectionate. I know that he desires my happiness. 
He can have no good cause for disliking you.” 

“I am now earning a good living. I am well enough 
off to marry. I am sure to do better. When shall I 
speak to him?” 

“Not now,” she said quickly. “No, not now. I will 
talk with mother. It would be terrible if he should 
forbid me to see you.” 

Walter’s anger kindled; but at once he quenched it. 

“I hope he would not do that.” 

“He is my kind father, and I love him. It would be 
sad for me if he should come between us. What would 
I do?” 

“O never mind,” said Walter. “He will not be un- 
just. You cannot quarrel with your father, nor can I 
quarrel with him. Let us put the matter by. But it 
does seem, doesn’t it, as if there can be no joy in this 
world without the touch of bitterness.” 

He took up the oars again. 

“Let me row with you,” she said. 

“Is that the better way? Isn’t it my task to toil for 
you, my love, in the long journey we are now begin- 
ning?” 

“No,” she said, smiling brightly once more; “no, that 
is not the way. We are going to toil together, side by 
side. While you are doing your share, I must be close 


15 


226 Captain Bluitt 

by you, doing mine. I cannot be happy so far from you 
as this.’' 

So then she moved to the place where he was, and 
sat by him once again, and oars in hand they urged the 
boat homeward. 

It was late in the afternoon when they reached the 
little pier by Captain Bluitt’s boat-house and when 
Walter had given his hand to his sweetheart to help her 
to alight and had tied the boat to the post, they began 
to climb the steps to the top of the Bank. 

Florabella Burns was there. She had been walking 
upon the river side of the street and she saw them com- 
ing. She stopped to greet them. 

As she did so, an odd look came upon her face, and 
presently she said, quietly: 

“I congratulate you both.” 

“How did you know?” demanded Dorothea, startled 
but smiling. 

“My dear,” replied Florabella, “I saw it in your eyes! 
If I had known about it I would have hurried on. O, 
you dear sweet girl, how glad I am! And you, Walter,” 
she said, giving him her hand, “didn’t I tell you you 
were lucky?” 

“Yes,” said Walter. “You. are my fairy godmother. 
You simply rain benedictions.” 

“Isn’t it just too perfectly lovely for anything!” con- 
tinued Florabella, joyfully. “To think of you two lovers 
sailing over the water in pursuit of bliss and then sailing 
home again loaded down with it! I wish I could hug 
you, Dorry! Good-bye, dear! Good-bye, Walter;” and 
Florabella passed onward toward her home, sighing a 
little and feeling rather downcast. With a final sigh, 
she said to herself: 

“What wouldn’t I give to taste that happiness again !” 

The lovers entered Dorothea’s house to bid good-bye. 
There was no one in the parlor. 

Walter took her in his arms and kissed her upturned 


Into the New World 227 

happy face again and again, and then after one long last 
embrace, he went away. 

That very night, when Dorry had gone to her room, 
John Hamilton said to his wife: 

‘‘Mother, wasn’t Dorry upon the river to-day with that 
young Drur)^?” 

“Yes, for a little while.” 

Well, I don t half like it. He is much too attentive 
to her. She must not encourage him.” 

“I am afraid she likes him.” 

“But she mustn’t like him. He is not the sort of man 
for her at all.” 

“What is your objection to him, dear?” asked his wife. 
“W hy, in the first place, he is in a miserable business, 
where he can never earn any money but a poor salary; 
and then, he belongs to the Bluitts, very clever, but very 
common people. A girl like Dorry can do very much 
better. She must aim higher.” 

“He seemed to me like a superior young man.” 

“Well, I don’t like him. Dorry ought to make a bril- 
liant match. It is important for us, too, that she should.” 
“Brilliant matches are often unhappy, John.” 

“They needn’t be. She might as well marry a man 
worth half a million dollars, as to throw herself away 
upon a poor newspaper writer. I will never give my 
consent to it, never? It had better be stopped now.” 

And John Hamilton, in a condition of considerable 
irritation, resumed the book he had been reading. 

On that very night, also, Mrs. Frobisher sat in her 
husband’s study with him, and when he had finished 
writing and could spare time for talk, she turned over 
upon the table the book she had been reading and said: 

“My love, have you particularly noticed Lochinvar 
lately ?” 

“Why no!” exclaimed the clergyman, looking at her 
with surprise. “Is anything the matter?” 

“Well, my dear, there can be no doubt that he is be- 


228 


Captain Bluitt 

coming more and more interested in that Hamilton girl 
Dorothea. He goes there constantly.'' 

‘‘She is in the choir; that is the only reason." 

“No it isn’t. A mother sees such things clearly. He 
is getting to be fond of her. Besides, I notice that he 
is more indifferent about his meals, and he mopes a 
good deal, exactly as if he were in love." 

“Well, what of it? She is a fine girl." 

“But not precisely our kind, dear." 

“You think not? I think the boy could hardly do 
better!" 

“No, dear, he might do much better. Any real Metcalf 
can do better. He should seek for some one in his own 
station in life." 

“Mary, I think you carry that kind of thing too far. 
The giri is lovely." 

“In some respects, yes; and she is bright enough to 
seek to elevate herself. I very much fear she has com- 
pletely ensnared Lochinvar." 

“I wouldn't use just that term, my love, if I were you. 
The Hamiltons are eminently respectable people." 

“Of their kind. But no member of my family ever 
held a position as a hired person in a little bank, on a 
salary." 

“Why, I am on a salary myself." 

“Yes, I know; but it is different. You are in the sacred 
ministry; you have charge of the highest spiritual inter- 
ests of the people. It is a profession. All the Metcalfs 
have been either land-owners or professional men." 

“Well, my love," answered the doctor, reflecting upon 
some rather forlorn Metcalfs of whom he knew, any one 
of whom would have been glad to have a salary, “I do 
not see what I can do about it. The boy can't marry, at 
any rate. He has nothing." 

“All the more reason then that he should aim high — 
aim to get an heiress." 

Dr. Frobisher determined not to discuss the subject 


Into the New World 


229 


further. He turned again to his table, and began to put 
the concluding touches to his sermon upon “The Deceit- 
fulness of Riches,’’ and Mrs. Frobisher took up her book 
and pretended to read it while she reflected upon Lochin- 
var’s recklessness in throwing himself away. 

Walter arranged to take dinner with his uncle and 
aunt, and to return to the city upon the evening train. 

“You had a fine time on the river, Walter?” remarked 
Captain Bluitt, as they sat with Miss Puella in the library. 

“Fine!” said Walter. 

“She’s a nice girl,” said the captain, contemplatively. 

“Yes indeed,” responded Walter. 

“You settled it, did you?” asked his aunt. 

“Settled what?” 

Miss Bluitt laughed. 

“Now Walter,” she said, “it’s of no use trying to hide 
it from me. You’re engaged.” 

“How on earth do all the women find out such 
things?” 

“Why, Walter,” said Miss Puella, “I know it from the 
Way you came into the house; from the way you slammed 
the door and ran up to your room, three steps at a time. 
When I heard you I said it myself: “It’s over! He has 
her! I knew you would get her.” 

“Women are sharp about such things,” said the cap- 
tain. “Well, I’m mighty glad to hear it, Walter, there 
are not ten girls in the country like her.” 

“There’s not one,” said he. 

“That’s right, my son! Sure enough, she’s the only 
one. I had a kind of notion you would clinch the thing 
to-day. If it hadn’t been for that, I might have gone 
along.” 

“I’m glad you didn’t,” said Walter, smiling. 

“Of course. But, Wally, you’ll not marry right 
away?” 

“No,” said Walter, “and it will be better to keep the 


2}0 Captain Bluitt 

matter secret for the present. I’m afraid her father will 
be not very ready to accept me; she is afraid.” 

“Humph!” said Captain Bluitt, “I don’t see why he 
should be a fool. You’ll make her a fine husband. She 
might have done a good deal worse.” 

“Fathers are always that way,” said Miss Bluitt, with 
a look of disgust. 

“And you are getting along so well in your business. 
I tell you, my son, it surprises me the way you write. 
Where did you ever get the knack? Not one of our 
people ever had any turn for writing. It’s perfectly 
astonishing how you turn off an article, and the words 
you use.” 

“O I guess there is nothing unusual about it,” said 
Walter with a laugh. 

“But there is!” responded the captain. “None of 
our family could have done it. The fact is, writing is 
the hardest work I ever have to do. Can’t do it at all, 
in fact. I never had any command of words; and the 
English language has some of the toughest kind.” 

“I don’t know,” said Walter. “I never thought so. 
What words, for example, strike you as being hard?” 

“O, lots of them. Some words I see in the newspapers 
continually, I can hardly pronounce at all. 

“Such as--?” 

“Well, words like exiguous and litigious; and when it 
comes to fla-flag-flagitious I am simply out. I can 
hardly say it at all; or say it anywhere near right. And 
Egypt! Do you have any trouble with Egypt?” 

“What kind of trouble?” 

“To write it. 

“No, I think not.” 

“The man that invented that word must have been 
actuated by malice to put three down-letters one right 
after the other. I can hardly write it at all.” 

“You like a word such as Connecticut, do you?” asked 
Puella. 


Into the New World 


231 


‘‘Something like that.” 

“Well, then, I would write about Connecticut and let 
Egypt alone.” 

After dinner and just before Walter was ready to leave 
the house. Captain Bluitt said to him. Miss Bluitt being 
up-stairs : 

“My boy, I can^t tell you how glad I am you are to 
marry that sweet little girl. You’ll never do a better 
thing than that as long as you live. I envy you. There 
is no real happiness outside of marriage. You’ll be a 
better man for her companionship. Now let me tell you 
something. If John Hamilton makes any fuss, and ob- 
jects to you because you are poor, you will tell him that 
you will make your way in the world, for with your 
splendid talents you will. It wouldn’t surprise me if you 
would be President of the United States; but you can 
tell him something else: that I am going to back you 
while I live and to leave you all I have when I am gone — • 
nearly all, anyhow.” 

Walter grasped his uncle’s hand and thanked him and 
saying farewell to him and to his aunt, who met him in 
the hall, he started upon his homeward way feeling that 
life, just at that moment, could hardly be more fully 
charged with bliss. 

As soon as Walter got home, late as it was, he wrote 
an eight-page letter to Dorothea. 


CHAPTER XV 

The Way of the Transgressor 

A fter meditating for several days upon the sub- 
ject of investiuent in the McGann Electric Motor 
without reaching a positive conclusion, John 
Hamilton resolved to visit once more the in- 
ventor’s work-shop and to try to discover some defective 
quality in the device or to confirm his favorable opin- 
ion of it. 

His eagerness to find a way of enlarging his fortune 
had not been diminished in intensity, but, as he consid- 
ered the offer made to him by McGann, it began to 
appear rather less attractive and to contain smaller 
promise of great results. The impression made upon 
his mind by the spectacle of the Motor in actual opera- 
tion, and by McGann’s declarations of the possibilities 
of its application to practical uses, had lost some of its 
strength when he had reflected upon the subject. 

As he walked up the street after bank-hours, on his 
way to the studio, he said to himself, as if to assure him- 
self of the fact, that he had definitely abandoned the pro- 
ject of using the bank’s money improperly for this pur- 
pose. If he had looked far inside to that hidden self 
which is the real self, and to examine which is sometimes 
an unpleasing operation, he would have discovered, 
perhaps, that he still held in reserve for consideration 
under very extreme circumstances the notion that money 
could be had in that way, if all other methods failed. 

But having persuaded himself that there was no longer 
danger in that direction, he proceeded to speculate con- 
cerning the plan that he might have adopted for taking 

(232) 


Way of the Transgressor 233 

the money from the bank if he had been so unwise as 
to yield to the strong temptation that he had now suc- 
cessfully resisted and put behind him, he believed for- 
ever. 

He permitted his mind, in a manner, to play with the 
subject; and as it did so a method of procedure was 
clearly outlined to it, by which he could take five 
thousand dollars at one time and an equal sum at an- 
other with practically no chance that the withdrawal of 
the money could be discovered under any circumstances 
with which his experience had made him familiar. 

“It is so safe,” he said, “and so easy, that there is 
reason for wonder more men in my situation have not 
availed themselves of it.” 

But he felt grateful and happy that there was no 
longer any reason for considering seriously any such en- 
terprise; and as he approached McCann’s place he had 
reached the determination to surrender the option the 
inventor had given him. 

When he entered the room McCann greeted him 
warmly, but, Hamilton thought, with somewhat less 
eagerness of expectancy than might have been looked 
for. 

The Motor was running finely and as he and McCann 
walked around it, the inventor fondly patted a part of 
the frame of the machine and said: 

“I wouldn’t swap that for the biggest fortune in the 
country,” 

Hamilton stopped and looked at it. 

“I have been trying to arrange to get the money,” he 
said; “but there has been unexpected difficulty about it. 
And, besides, do you really think the thing can do all 
you claim for it?” 

“Why, certainly; all and more. But, I tell you Ham- 
ilton, don’t you go into it if you have any doubts. I 
don’t want to unload any risk on you.” . 


2M 


Captain Bluitt 

“Well, you know, all such things have elements of 
risk. We can’t be certain, can we?” 

“You can’t, of course; but I can. I am certain.” 

“But you missed it often before when you felt quite 
as sure?” 

“Maybe so; but this is different. There the thing is, 
running. There is no guess-work about that. Nobody 
ever made one run before. We have got that far, for 
sure, anyway.” 

“Yes, but—” 

“It is all right for you to be careful, but to tell the 
truth I can’t wait too long for you to make up your 
mind. I want the money. If you back out, I shall have 
no trouble to find a man who will go in and stay in.” 

“You have had offers?” 

“Two or three of them,” said the judge. 

“Any one I know?” 

“I don’t know that I ought to tell, but I will say Cap- 
tain Bluitt has pretty much said he will invest, since I 
got the machine actually in motion.” 

“Bluitt is considering it, is he?” 

“Not considering. He has decided to take your 
option if you give it up. The fact is, I owe him money, 
and I shouldn’t wonder if he thought this about the 
only chance to get it back. Anyhow, I am under obli- 
gation to him, and I shall be glad to do him a favor.” 

Hamilton looked serious. Then he said: 

“You wouldn’t like to have me bring an expert 
machinist here to give me an opinion of the Motor, 
would you?” 

“I don’t want to be mean about it, Hamilton, but I 
ask you, now, would you do that if you were in my 
place and no patents had been secured? No, I can’t 
allow that.” 

“O, well,” said Hamilton, “I suppose it wouldn’t be 
fair to you. Will you give me forty-eight hours more to 
think it over and to get the money?” 


Way of the Transgressor 23^ 

‘'Yes, but I really must stop there. I want to oblige 
you, but I have to protect myself. Call it two days and 
then you come in or agree to stay out.” 

“Very well,” said Hamilton, “I will let you hear from 
me before the time has expired.” 

As he left the room and began his homeward walk 
the cashier discovered that he had experienced a com- 
plete revulsion of feeling respecting the Motor. 

“It is now or never, for me,” he said. “If I permit 
this opportunity to pass I shall never have another one. 
There is Bluitt, with plenty of money already and no 
family to spend it on, eager to go into this venture so 
that he can make more; and I can’t touch it, no matter 
how good it is! That’s the way it always is,” he said 
bitterly. “The man who has gets more. The man who 
is poor can’t get his little finger in. Bluitt wouldn’t 
lend me the money to make the investment with; no, 
men don’t do that kind of thing; but he will risk it for 
his own advantage.” 

“Risk! There is no risk! Bluitt is a shrewd business 
man, with all his foolishness. He sees plainly enough, 
as I do — as any intelligent man would — ^that this Motor 
is a moneymaker; a money-maker for him, but not for 
me!” 

“Within forty-eight hours either I w'^ill have begun to 
make my fortune, or that ridiculous ex-sea-captain will 
have started to roll up more useless riches for himself. 
It’s pretty hard, with wealth and comfort within sight, 
to be pushed back into poverty and the position of a 
hireling!” 

“Money, after all — bank money, is just a tool. Of 
itself, lying in a vault, it is really useless. Couldn’t I 
very properly borrow a carpenter’s tools to do a bit of 
work without any wrong to the owner? Can’t I just 
take the tool that is locked up in the bank, use it and put 
it back, without hurting anybody?” 

He could have seen plainly enough, the man whose 


2^6 Captain Bluitt 

business was to lend money, the defect of such reason- 
ing; but his passionate desire to become an owner of a 
machine that would make him a rich man persuaded him 
to shut his eyes to the truth. 

Before he reached his home he had almost decided 
to take the money from the bank; he said to himself (a 
deadly process that! trying to lie to oneself!) that he 
had made no decision; that the matter still lay open; but, 
in truth, if he had dealt candidly with himself he would 
have perceived that the fatal step into crime had been 
taken. It is always a mental process. He had not yet 
touched the money; but he had actually become a thief. 

The subject was uppermost in his thought that night 
and in the morning. When he reached the bank and 
had finished opening the letters and had disposed of 
some small matters of routine, he concluded to ascertain, 
just for the sake of satisfying his curiosity, how that 
scheme he had thought of and thrust aside really would 
work. 

He took a piece of paper and a pen and figured it 
out. There was no flaw in it. It appeared to him certain 
that no human being could discover the disappearance 
of the money unless experts should overhaul the entire 
set of books of the institution and should explore to the 
very bottom the bank’s resources. That had never been 
done by anybody within his memory and probably never 
would be done. 

Then he went into the vault and picked up a package 
of bills amounting to five thousand dollars and brought 
it out and tossed it carelessly upon his desk. Anybody 
might look at it, he thought; he wouldn’t make the first 
motion towards acting as if he were stealing the money. 

The bills lay there all through the day and, with 
ofhcers and clerks coming and going, nobody noticed 
them. Then, as the bank-hours drew to an end, he 
cleared away some of his papers, and as he did so he 
tossed the money into the drawer of his desk. Still he 


237 


Way of the Transgressor 

tried to make himself believe that the matter was not 
settled. But presently the time came when the vault 
must be locked by the teller, and he sat at his desk and 
heard the door slam and the lock click while he made 
no movement. 

Then he finished up some writing he thought he had 
to do, and when it was ended nobody remained but the 
night-watchman. 

‘Tt won’t do to leave that money lying here all night,” 
he said. 'T’ll put it in my pocket, anyhow.” 

He did so, shut his desk and left the bank. His in- 
tention had been to go home; but the impulse to visit 
McGann was too strong to be resisted. He turned in 
that direction, with his face hot, his heart beating faster 
than usual, and a mingled feeling of hopefulness and 
desperation in his soul. 

By the time he reached McCann’s place he had half 
resolved (or he thought he had half resolved) to carry 
the money home with him and to put it back in the 
morning. 

McGann welcomed him, and said: 

“Don’t you think you might just as well let go of the 
idea of buying into the Motor? I’ve had another good 
offer since I saw you, and Bluitt actually came in here 
this morning with a check for the money. If you say so, 
I will withdraw your option now.” 

This was the weight that dropped the balance. Ham- 
ilton did not hesitate. Assuming an air of cheerfulness, 
he said: 

“Withdraw it! Why, man I’ve succeeded in raising 
the money, and I have it in my pocket. Give me a re- 
ceipt for five thousand dollars.” 

“Good!” exclaimed the inventor. “You’re a lucky 
man.” 

“And I must have also,” said Hamilton, “a formal as- 
signment to me of half the total interest in the invention 


238 Captain Bluitt 

and when you apply for the patents half must be assigned 
to me.” 

“That’s right; that’s all right. I know exactly how 
to do it. I’ve done it many a time before.” 

Then McGann and Hamilton together prepared the 
papers in due form, including Hamilton’s promise to 
pay another five thousand dollars, and when they had 
been signed and witnessed by two neighbors, Hamilton 
handed the money to the inventor. 

“Looks good, doesn’t it?” remarked McGann, as his 
fingers lovingly turned the notes over. “Well, sir, that’s 
just nothing. When the Motor is put on the market you 
and I will have such stuff as that to throw away.” 

“I hope so,” said Hamilton, smiling. “And now about 
getting the patents?” 

“I will send in the application to-night,” said McGann. 
“We will be making Motors to sell before summer-time 
has gone.” 

The cashier looked about the shop and felt some ela- 
tion as he remembered that he was now one of the pro- 
prietors. He patted the Motor with fiis hand, as McGann 
had done on the preceding day. He owned part of it. 

“Let me see you start it up once more, judge,” he 
said. 

The judge turned the switch and the machine went 
into operation and ran with perfect smoothness and with 
really wonderful celerity. 

“That’s all right, I believe,” exclaimed Hamilton, again 
patting the Motor. “I believe we have hold of a good 
thing.” 

The cashier returned to his home not without some 
pangs of regret that he had involved himself finally and 
hopelessly in wrong, but having also a feeling of relief 
that the struggle was over, the decision made, and the 
first bold step taken toward better fortune. 

Being absolutely committed to the crime the right 
policy for him was to keep up his courage, to thrust 


Way of the Transgressor 239 

remorse away from him, and to look steadily forward to 
the rich harvest he should one day reap. 

But indeed as he sat at dinner that night with his wife 
and daughter, and as they chatted in the old way about 
the domestic things and the church things and about 
their friends, he could not resist the impression that he 
had in a measure sundered himself from them. 

These familiar topics of conversation no longer inter- 
ested him very much. He seemed to have left such things 
behind him, to have drifted away from the mental condi- 
tion which permitted him to regard them. While they 
talked in the usual manner of the common things, his 
mind was filled with the thought of his transactions on 
that day, and he had a strong consciousness that a great 
gulf had been fixed between him and those who were so 
dear to him. 

As he listened to their voices and even while he re- 
sponded to them the thought would come to him “What 
W’ould they think if they knew what I know?” He car- 
ried a tremendous Secret, and in that sweet atmosphere 
of home, with the two gentle women who loved him so 
much, it seemed to bear upon him as a heavy burden. 

And after dinner when they went into the library he 
must have family worship. This had been always the 
practice in that house. He had not thought of it until 
the hour came on this evening, and he shrank from it. 
But clearly he could not avoid the duty now, for wife 
and daughter would be surprised and would ask for a 
reason. No, to avert suspicion that anything was wrong 
he must follow the custom; and so, as the two women 
seated themselves in expectation, Hamilton took down 
the Bible and read a chapter. 

Then he must pray. He really shrank from that act. 
He had been used to employ a book of prayers, one for 
each morning and evening of the week. He picked it 
up and opened it and as he did so he had something like 
a sickening sensation. The whole situation had horror 


240 


Captain Bluitt 

in it. To commit an offense against his Maker was one 
thing; but to come before Him with unrepented sin upon 
his soul, to pray to Him while defying Him — really that 
was a formidable task for a man who still had spiritual 
sensibility. 

‘Tt is fortunate,” he thought, ‘‘that the prayers are 
in print. I should never be able to make a prayer for 
myself;” and there was a flash of anguish through his 
soul, as he thought how far he must have fallen that he 
was afraid to pray. 

He managed to repress all manifestation of feeling 
and to appear to his wife and daughter just as he always 
did, but presently as he read the prayer his voice quav- 
ered and almost broke when he came to these words: 
He had not looked for them: 

‘‘May we and our loved ones be safe under Thy care. 
Keep us from all sin. Defend us by Thy mighty power 
against the attacks of the Evil One and against his 
secret snares. Strengthen us to resist the wickedness 
that is in the world. May we walk continually and con- 
sciously with God.” 

Hamilton said this with what confidence he could com- 
mand, but the effort to retain self-control was a great 
one; and when the prayer was ended his wife came over 
to him and putting her hand on his arm, asked: 

“Is anything the matter, John?” 

She looked at him in such a way that he thought she 
must suspect him ; but she did not. 

He made some answer about having had a trying day 
at the bank, and then, after chatting with the women in 
a pleasant way, he took up the evening paper, as was 
his custom, and seemed to be absorbed in reading. 

That contact of his mind with religion helped to give 
him a new impulse. Before he had gone to bed he had 
half resolved to get the money back from McGann, to 
replace it in the bank and to abandon the whole under- 
taking. During the restless, wakeful night this conclu- 


Way of the Transgressor 241 


Sion was wholly reached. Within three hours the crime 

should be as though it had not been done. 

As soon as breakfast was over he put on his hat and 
walked out to McCann’s house, feeling better and hap- 
pier than he had done for several days. 

Fortunately,” he said, reconsidered the step in 
time. It was a narrow escape; but it is the last time for 
m^ 1 will never make such a movement again.” 

He reached the house and knocked upon the door. It 
was opened by the black woman who cooked and kept 
house for the inventor. 

“Tell the judge I want to see him at once,” said Ham- 
ilton. 


^'‘De jedge ain’t yer, Mars’r.” 

“Where is he? Down at the shop?” 

No, suh; he done gone to de city in de fus train dis 
mawnin’.” 

Hamilton’s heart sank. 

“Did he say when he would return?” 

“Mebbe to-morrow, mebbe not fo’ fo’ or five days.” 

Hamilton turned and walked slowly homeward. Too 
late! McCann of course had taken the monev with him, 
and no doubt much of it would be spent at once paying 
debts and making new purchases. Yes, it was too late! 

When the first shock of disappointment was over, 
Hamilton’s mind recurred to the alluring arguments that 
had first led him toward the Motor, and, all possibility 
of receding being now hopeless, he considered that to 
recede, if he should do so, might be unwise. 

“O, well,” he said, “it is all right, anyhow! There 
is no use playing fast and loose with such a thing. Let 
it stand and I will not regret it.” 

He walked down to the bank, where the day passed as 
usual without notable incident. So smoothly and natur- 
ally indeed did the business glide by, that he was inclined 
sometimes to feel that his theft was not a reality, but 
was as if he had dreamed about it. 


16 


242 Captain Bluitt 

And then he thought how easy it would be to take the 
second five thousand dollars. He would not have so 
many tremors when the deed should have to be done 

again. . 

On the Saturday night following a meeting of the con- 
gregation was held at the Presbyterian Church to con- 
sider the adoption of methods by which the mortgage 
upon the building could be removed, or at least be re- 
duced in dimensions. 

The attendance was large; the Hamiltons were there, 
and Miss Bluitt; and Judge McCann came in and sat 
in one of the pews before the people had finished sing- 
ing the opening hymn. 

After a brief statement by the pastor concerning the 
need that the church should be relieved speedily from 
the burden of indebtedness. Elder Brown, Principal of 
the Public School, asked for suggestions respecting the 
best way of accomplishing the object. 

One of the ladies proposed an oyster-supper; another 
thought the community might be willing to endure one 
more fair for the sale of useful and fancy articles; and 
still another urged that a concert with home and foreign 
talent” would be a sure money-maker. Trustee Wilkins 
inclined to a magic-lantern show, with some comic pic- 
tures; say Views of the Holy Land for the main attrac- 
tion, and then a bit of fun afterwards, or interspersed 

with the Views. , . , r 

Puella Bluitt spoke about the beauty and usefulness ot 
self-denial and recommended that everybody should go 
without butter and caramels for two months and put the 
money-equivalent of these articles into mite-boxes. 

When these and other plans for obtaining money had 
been offered and urged, Davis Cook the plumber, and 
the Librarian of the Sunday School, rose for the pur- 
pose of making a few observations. 

‘T don’t want to oppose none of the schemes presented 
here to-night,” he said, “or to do anything disagreeable 


Way of the Transgressor 24 } 

to the brethren and sisters who are better Christians than 
I am, and many of whom have forgotten more, maybe, 
than I ever knowed. But I have the interests of this 
church at heart, and as we have been invited here for the 
purpose of gitting opinions, I think I am free to speak 
my mind and I hope I will do so without giving offense 
to nobody. Each man sees things different, and if I 
can’t see ’em your way, that may not prove you are 
wrong; but I’ve got to tell you how I see ’em or else 
jest set here and keep quiet.” 

“This church was organized for the worship of God 
and for the preaching of the everlasting Gospel. It ain’t 
no shop. It wasn’t got up for trade or for driving bar- 
gains. It’s a place w^here sinners and saints come to 
pray; the saints to git comfort from the preached Word 
while the sinners git conversion — at least we hope they’ll 
git it. The church then is really a kind of little Heaven 
here below, and when a man comes into it he surely 
ought to leave worldly things on the outside. Worship- 
ing and dickering ain’t got nothing in common. That’s 
the way it strikes me.” 

“Now it seems to me,” continued Davis, “that such an 
organization as that oughtn’t to go into the eating-house 
business or try to sell notions. When you have an 
oyster-supper for the benefit of the church — ^and mind 
you, I don’t make no wry faces at oyster-suppers just 
regarded as oyster-suppers — I put it to you brethren if 
it isn’t just the same as saying to the outside world 
lying in wickedness, ‘Come and help the work of spread- 
ing the glorious Gospel Tidings by stuffing your diges- 
tive organs with oysters that you’ll have to pay more for 
and less of ’em than you can get anywheres else?’ That’s 
not my idea of the way pure religion’s going to be spread 
from pole to pole. If you can bring a man to realize 
that he is a sinner by selling him for a quarter in the 
sanctuary an oyster-stew about half as good as he can 
buy in an irreligious place down the street for fifteen 


244 Captain Bluitt 

cents, you tell me how the thing works and I’ll set right 
down and hold my peace.” 

“And as for fairs — well, brethren, I don’t want to 
speak nothing harsh against fairs, but it really does seem 
to me that folks that have a high spiritual calling 
oughtn’t to combine religious purposes with the business 
of working off pin-cushions and doll-babies and candy 
and lemonade and pie and perfectly useless fancy-work 
on kind-hearted neighbors who are still in bondage to 
their sins.” 

“A magic-lantern show ain’t much better, although 
there is no particular objection to it, as a show, any more 
than there is to a concert, which I always like to hear, 
though I ain’t got no ear for music. But what I don’t 
like,” said Davis earnestly, “is trying to raise money 
by any plan that says to a man: ‘Give your dollars to 
religion, and you’ll get ’em back quick in the shape of 
something you can carry home in your pocket or your 
digestive tract.’ Brethren, I think the only way to pay 
off that mortgage is for you and me to go down into our 
pockets and to give the last dollar we can spare.” 

'‘Now, I’ve done a good deal of talking, and maybe 
I’ve hurt somebody’s feelings, and I’m sorry if I have. 
But so’s there won’t be jest talk, so’s I won’t seem to 
give advice I ain’t willing to take, I say here and now 
that I’ll subscribe fifty dollars to the fund.” 

There was silence when Davis resumed his seat. He 
looked flushed and excited, but he had the air of a man 
who had done his duty. 

After an interval of a few moments, to the astonish- 
ment of everybody. Judge McGann slowly arose and 
said: 

“I will give one hundred dollars.” 

The congregation smiled. The feeling was that the 
judge would have to borrow the money to make his 
promise good; but Hamilton knew where the contribu- 
tion would come from. 


Way of the Transgressor 245 

Puella Bluitt rose to say that she and Captain Bluitt 
together would give one hundred dollars. 

Then the subscriptions stopped for a time. 

^ Presently Trustee Johnson, who had political affilia- 
tions, stood up and said: 

“Two or three days ago I asked Colonel Bly for a 
contribution to the church, and he promised me a hun- 
dred dollars. I think I may report this now.^^ 

Colonel Bly was the Democratic leader of the state and 
more than suspected of crooked practices. 

When Trustee Johnson resumed his seat, Davis Cook 
stood up again and said: 

‘T know you don't want to hear me any more, and I 
don't want to speak any more, but there is times when, 
as the Bible says — I think it is the Bible — a man must 
cry aloud. As I said a while ago, gift-money is the only 
kind of money a church ought to touch — money pre- 
sented as a free will offering from the sheep to the Shep- 
herd. Now, all the money we've got to-night, up to a 
certain point, is that kind of money. It is honest money, 
honestly earned by honest people. There ain't no dirt 
on it, and the people who give it are the Lord's own 
people. But I want to say that that last subscription — 
and I mean no offense to Brother Johnson — ain't that 
kind of money. It ain't for me to say where the giver 
got it from, though there are tough stories around about 
his operations. All I know is he ain't been in no business 
since he was born and he's got himself rich and if he 
done it honest, he knows more than any other honest 
man on this here earth. I don't lay down no law for 
you, brethren, but I lay it down for Davis Cook when 
I say I'd rather put another mortgage on the church than 
to lift this one with money from a man who appears to 
me to be serving the Devil a good deal harder than I 
am trying to serve the Lord." 

These words provoked an angry remonstance from 
Trustee Johnson, who rebuked Davis Cook severely for 


246 Captain Bluitt 

slandering his neighbor. After some further discussion 
of the subject a vote was taken and the congregation by 
a considerable majority decided to accept Colonel Bly s 

money. t i tt -u 

Then the meeting adjourned; and as John Hamilton 

walked home with his wife (Lochinvar taking care that 
Dorothea did not fail of an escort) Mrs. Hamilton said 
to her husband. 

^T think Davis Cook is right. I do not like fairs and 
suppers for the help of religious objects; and I doubt if 
we should take Colonel’s Ely’s money.” 

^‘Maybe not,” replied Hamilton. 

^^But where on earth, John, did Mr. McGann get the 
money with which to make that offering? I thought he 
was very, very poor!” 

‘T haven’t the least idea,” said Hamilton. 


CHAPTER XVI 
The Slave-Catchers 

W HEN John Blodgett reported to Mr. Metcalf’s 
overseer the failure of the attempt to obtain 
possession of Becky Slifer by process of law, 
the overseer, after reflecting upon the matter 
for a few moments, said: 

“We won^t bother the Squire about it. He will dis- 
like to go to the lawyer’s office and make affidavits and 
have trouble, and all that kind of thing. Can’t you just 
kidnap the woman and bring her along anyhow, without 
bothering with the law?” 

“I suppose I can,” answered Blodgett, “but you know 
it isn’t the same thing up there in a free state as it is 
here. Most of the people will keep hands off, but some 
of them abolitionists are always around and always ready 
to meddle and they may make trouble.” 

“Well, the five hundred dollars reward is still open to 
the man that gets the woman, and you might as well 
have it if you’ve got nerve enough to take her.” 

“I can do it if any man can.” 

“How will it answer to let the thing lay quiet for a 
while, until the excitement blows over and Becky is off 
her guard, and then take a couple of good men with 
you and seize her some night when she is out, and hurry 
her over the state line?” 

“All right. I’ll undertake it; and if I can get my 
hands on her again that will end it. I’ll take no more 
chances with her.” 

Thus it was well on towards summer-time, in the early 
days of June, when Blodgett came again to Turley with 

(247) 


248 Captain Bluitt 

two companions, practiced slave-catchers, Jim English 
and Henry Wild. They made their headquarters at a 
small hotel in the town, and Blodgett remained indoors 
in the day time, fearing to be recognized. 

English and Wild made observations of Captain 
Bluitt’s house and of Becky’s habits of going in and out. 
They soon discovered that the negress was permitted to 
have each week one evening to herself, and that her 
practice was to visit Dr. Quelch, where, among the ser- 
vants, she had found congenial companions. Blodgett 
resolved to take her upon the public highway upon her 
return from one of these visits. 

Fortunately for his purpose, it happened that the very 
next night when Becky had leave of absence from home 
was clear, with the moon at the full. 

Captain Bluitt’s house was watched, and the woman 
was seen to go out towards Dr. Quelch’s. She was fol- 
lowed at a distance, and she entered the doctor’s kitchen. 

The conspirators thought the task now easy enough 
if Becky should come back alone and if the road should 
be free from travelers when she returned. 

Blodgett rode on horseback, carrying some small, 
strong cord, and Wild and English accompanied him 
on foot. 

About half-way down the road leading towards the 
house of the physician was a grove, not large, but dense 
enough to supply a perfectly obscure hiding-place upon 
a night so lustrous; and the wood opened directly into 
the road, there being no fence and no hedge, such as 
lined the road on both sides for more than a mile, ex- 
cepting at this point. 

The nearest house upon the highway was almost half 
a mile distant, and a nearer house beyond the grove was 
not accessible except by going around the wood for a 
considerable distance. 

Blodgett rode in among the trees, dismounted, tied his 
horse, and seated himself with his companions upon a 


The Slave-Catchers 


249 


log from which could be seen distinctly the highway 
until it turned to the right at a distance of three or four 
hundred yards. 

•Becky was not accustomed to remain out to a late 
hour. Captain Bluitt required her to be at home at ten 
o’clock, and she was more likely to be earlier than later 
in reaching the house. 

The men who watched for her sat smoking and talking 
in low tones for less than an hour, when English said: 

“I think she’s a-comin’.” 

The other two men looked down the road. 

‘Tt’s a woman, anyhow,” said Blodgett. 

“And she’s alone,” added Wild. 

“Alone,” said Blodgett, “and not another human being 
in sight. We’re in luck to-night, sure; and this bright 
moonlight, too!” 

“Will she fight?” asked Wild. 

“She’ll fight like a devil,” said Blodgett, “but I guess 
we’ll soon take the fight out of her.” 

“I don’t believe she’s armed,” said English. 

“No, I don’t think so,” replied English, “but you can’t 
tell for sure. She’s a lively nigger — built different from 
most niggers ; like a wild-cat. Better keep your eye open 
for a weapon.” 

“Here she comes,” said Wild. “That’s the woman. I 
know her walk and her build. Have you got the rope?” 

“I have it,” said Blodgett. “Jim, you grab her arms 
and while she struggles I’ll get in behind her and trip 
her. Clap something over her mouth as near at the 
very start as you can. She’ll holler.” 

The men crept to the edge of the wood, and placed 
themselves behind trees. The moon threw the shadows 
of the trees for a distance of four or five feet upon the 
road. 

Becky came along walking sharply, and without sing- 
ing as people of her race were used to do when they 
passed on the roads at night. 


2JO. Captain Bluitt 

As she neared the wood she took the other side of the 
way, keeping well in towards the hedge. She quickened 
her pace, also; the dread of capture was always in her 
mind. 

The three men dashed across the road towards her, 
without uttering a word. She started to run, but, finding 
that she could not escape in that way, she turned, drew a 
long, sharp-pointed kitchen-knife from the folds of her 
frock and backed up against the hedge. 

Then she screamed for help. 

'‘Quick, boys!” exclaimed Blodgett. 

Wild thrust himself upon her and tried to seize the 
arm that held the knife. English assailed her upon the 
other side. Both were wary, but bold. As the negress 
made a pass at Wild, English took hold of her left arm. 
Swiftly her right arm swept around and the knife went 
into his shoulder. 

Wild improved the chance to seize her right arm, and 
before she could transfer the knife to the other hand or 
could shake him loose, Blodgett, behind her, tripped her 
and she fell forward upon her face. 

The three men leaped upon her while she fought with 
desperate fury, twisting her body, dashing her knife in 
one direction and the other and crying still for help. 

“Get that knife!” said Blodgett, and Wild gave her 
arm a kick that paralyzed it. 

“Now we’ll stop her hollerin’,” said Blodgett, as he 
took off his coat, threw it over the woman’s head and 
tied it about her face. 

English held her head down, and Wild sat upon her 
arm while Blodgett sat upon her body. Taking a cord 
from his pocket, he brought Becky’s arms behind her 
back, and tied them tightly at the elbows and at the 
wrists. Then he tied her feet. 

“Now, boys,” he said, “stand her up while I gag her.” 
He produced a bit of hard wood tied at the ends with 
stout cords, and as Becky was lifted, still struggling, but 


The Slave-Catchers 2^1 

helpless, the coat was removed from her head, the bit 
inserted and the cord fastened about her head and neck. 
The bit was forced so far back in her mouth and was tied 
so tightly that her lips and tongue were lacerated. 

When she had been so completely secured that resist- 
ance was useless, Blodgett put a rope about her neck, 
with a slip-knot, and handed the rope to Wild. Then 
he cut the cord that bound the woman’s feet, and said: 

‘'Now come along you cursed nigger! We’ll put you 
where you’ll make no more trouble. Did she hurt you 
much, Jim?” he asked of English, as the party, with 
Becky following them at the rope’s-end, walked over to 
the road. 

“Didn’t cut very deep,” answered English. “I’ll strip 
off, and tie it up.” 

“All right, then,” said Blodgett. “You and Wild stay 
and dress the wound, and I’ll hurry on with the gal.” 

He handed money to English. 

“There’s what I promised and I’ll give you more for 
the cut if I get her home safe and pocket the reward. 
I’ll be back here again boys not later than Friday of 
next week and I will meet you at Goshorn’s tavern. 
Hold her for a minute, Harry.” 

English took the rope that held Becky captive, while 
Blodgett unhitched his horse. Leading the horse to 
the highway Blodgett mounted. Then tying the rope 
to the pommel of his saddle, he said: 

“I guess it’s safe enough to push on, boys. Nobody 
is about, but I don’t care much if anybody does see me. 
I’ve got the gal, and I’ve got a right to have her. I’ll 
go down as far as the Red Horse to-night and get a 
wagon there to drive her home. Good-bye! Much 
obliged for your help. Now, Becky, you just trot!” 

Blodgett started down the road. The woman followed 
him without contest. It was not her way to fight when 
fighting was useless. She still hoped either to work her 


2J2 Captain Bluitt 

hands free or meet some one who would interfere in her 
behalf. 

“So you thought you’d like to be free, did you?” said 
Blodgett, as he pushed along. He did not take even the 
trouble to turn his head to speak to her. “Well, I guess 
your master’ll put you where you won’t stand much 
chance of freedom. The rice-swamp’s the place for can- 
tankerous niggers like you.” 

Becky walked along, with her dress tom and dust- 
grimed, without the turban that had been lost in the 
fray, with blood dropping from her mouth, and with an 
agonizing pain in the arm which had been kicked by 
Wild. But, beaten and helpless as she was, her spirit 
was undaunted. If Blodgett could have looked into her 
face, he would have seen her eyes blazing with rage. 
Woe to the man who should come near to her when her 
hands should be untied. She resolved again, as she had 
resolved often before, if there were no other way of 
escape from return to slavery she would commit self- 
murder, 

Blodgett could not proceed faster than a walk, but his 
horse stepped quickly and Becky could with difficulty 
keep pace with him. 

“Here, gal!” said Blodgett, pulling at the rope, 
roughly, “don’t you drag that way. Step out lively now, 
or it’ll be the worse for you!” 

Becky made up her mind that if she must die, that 
man who led her as if she were a brute beast should die 
also, if he were anywhere within her reach. 

A moment later she heard the sound of wheels. A 
faint gleam of hope shone into her mind. She knew 
that the chances were more than even that no passer-by 
would dare to help her, but there was some chance. 

Dr. Quelch had occasion to visit Turley that night 
before ten o’clock. His old gray horse turned from the 
lane to the turnpike almost of his own accord. The 
doctor sat back in the buggy trusting the horse to keep 


The Slave-Catchers 2^3 

the middle of the way, as he had been trained to do, and 
the lines hung slack in the physician’s hands, while his 
thoughts wandered over some subject that for the 
moment engaged his attention. 

As the horse jogged along and the doctor meditated, 
the doctor was brought out of his contemplative mood 
with suddenness. He was astonished to perceive ahead 
of him and coming towards him, plainly visible in the 
white light, a man on horseback followed by a woman 
apparently with a rope about her neck. For a fractional 
part of a second the spectacle puzzled him. Then the 
meaning of it flashed upon his mind and he needed no 
other impulse to action. 

Compelling his horse to walk, and sitting far back 
in his buggy so that his face could not be seen, he took 
out his penknife and slowly approached the horseman 
and his captive. Blodgett feared little from the occupant 
of the buggy, whoever he might be. He felt fully able 
to take care of himself and of his prey. The sentiment of 
the community was always against the runaway slave. 

Dr. Quelch made as if he would drive past the two 
persons, but, as he got abreast of Becky, he leaped out, 
cut the cord about her neck, that which bound her hands 
and that which held the gag in her mouth. 

Becky had recognized the horse before it came near. 
She had expected help if the doctor were in the buggy, 
as she felt sure he was. 

Before Blodgett could fully grasp the changed situa- 
tion, before he could utter a word, the freed woman 
leaped at him, dragged him from his horse, flung him 
upon the ground, and fastened her hands upon his 
throat. He struggled ineffectually. He had a pistol, 
but he could not reach it. She would have killed him 
but for Dr. Quelch. 

^‘Becky! Becky!” said the doctor, seizing her and try- 
ing to pull her away from her victim. 

Releasing his throat, the woman beat Blodgett in the 


2J4 Captain Bluitt 

face until she almost blinded him. Dr. Quelch pulled 
her away. '‘Get into my carriage, quick,’' he said to 
her. She obeyed. 

Blodgett rose, wild with rage, and put his hand down 
to get his pistol. 

“Stop!” said the doctor with a stern voice, “don’t you 
dare to threaten me with a pistol, or I’ll have you in 
jail within an hour for kidnapping.” 

“That woman’s a runaway slave, and I am authorized 
to take her to her owner, and I’m going to do it, too.” 

“No,” said the doctor. “No, you’re not going to touch 
her. She is going with me until the law gives her up. 
You have no right to touch her.” 

“Right enough!” said Blodgett, “her master told me 
to take her.” 

“All I know about it,” said the physician, “is that you 
are trying to kidnap a woman who is living in a free com- 
munity. That is a crime in this state, and if you attempt 
to make an assault upon her or me that will be another 
crime, and I will hold you responsible for it.” 

“Now you go your way and I will go mine,” said the 
doctor, getting into the buggy and turning the horse 
about. 

Blodgett’s horse had walked away and was now stand- 
ing, nibbling the grass, a hundred yards from him, in 
the direction of the town. As Doctor Quelch drove away 
with Becky, Blodgett cursed him volubly and then with 
the dejection of a man who has lost the game, started 
down the road to secure his horse. 

Dr. Quelch drove to his own house, and on the way 
Becky related the particulars of her capture. 

“Very well,” said the doctor, when the story was done, 
“you must take no more chances of that kind. You 
shall stay with me, and I will tell Captain Bluitt of the 
matter. I have work to do that you can do better than 
anyone else. You must not go back to Turley.” 

When Becky had been deposited at the house. Dr. 



“ Stop !” said the doctor in a stern voice. — Page 254 

















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The Slave-Catchers 2^5 

Quelch turned about again and drove to Turley, where 
he completed his errand. Blodgett met Wild and Eng- 
lish at the hotel, and in spite of the plea made by Blod- 
gett that another attempt should be made to take the 
woman, there was final agreement that the project must 
be abandoned. 

Becky, under the direction of Dr. Quelch, was to 
begin a career as an agent of the Underground Rail- 
road which did not end until she had led nearly one 
hundred slaves from bondage in the South to freedom 
in the North. 

Upon the morning following the capture and rescue of 
Becky, it became the duty of Dr. Quelch to visit Captain 
Bluitt and Miss Bluitt, to inform them of the facts and 
to let them know that their faithful servant would return 
to them no more. 

When Dr. Quelch told how Becky had been tied and 
gagged and had been almost throttled by a rope. Miss 
Bluitt could not fully express her indignation. 

‘"How perfectly horrible, Doctor Quelch, to drag a 
woman along the public road as if she were being led 
to the scaffold! Cannot the constitution of the United 
States be amended to prevent such outrages as that?” 

‘T am afraid not,” answered the doctor. 

‘"Well, but there really must be a writ of habeas corpus 
or nisi prius, or something of that kind, to put a stop to 
such scandals or it is useless for us to talk about having 
a free country.” 

‘This is not a free country. Miss Bluitt,” said the 
physician gravely. “This is a slave country.” 

“The Romans, in their worst days, never dragged 
women about with ropes on their necks,” remarked Cap- 
tain Bluitt. 

“But why then teach children to sing about The land 
of the free and the home of the brave?' Why have the 
boys taught to declaim Patrick Henry's speech about 
‘Give me liberty or give me death?' ” 


2^6 Captain Bluitt 

^Those things are for white people, not for blacks,’* 
said the doctor. “Some day God will judge the nation 
that preaches lies and treats a black man as if he were 
lower than a brute.” 

“And what on earth we are going to do for a kitchen- 
woman, I don’t know,” said Miss Bluitt, anxiously, as 
her mind drifted off from politics and poetry to domestic 
economy. “We shall never again, I fear, have another 
cook who will equal Becky for cornbread and grilled- 
ham, never I But it was right for you, doctor, to takd' 
her away to a place of safety. Her life wouldn t be 
secure here.” 

When Dr. Quelch had gone. Miss Bluitt discussed the 
situation with her brother, and an agreement was reached 
that while active effort was made to obtain the services 
of a person who should take permanently the vacant 
place in the kitchen, the wife of Rufus Potter should be 
invited, and well-paid, to prepare the meals for the house- 
hold. 

It was not quite certain that Mrs. Potter’s methods of 
dealing with grilled-ham or of projecting waffles into 
the dining-room were equal to those employed by Re- 
becca Slifer, and the heart of Miss Bluitt sank within her 
one morning as she looked upon the pone-muffins fabri- 
cated by Hannah and then permitted her mind to drift 
backward to the muffins born of the loftier culinary 
genius of Rebecca; but, upon the whole, Mrs. Potter 
did very well indeed. Certainly in the mere matter of 
celerity she far surpassed Becky; she moved at least 
eight inches where Becky would have moved one; and 
her energy was actually not less than surprising. She 
prepared the meals at her own home, while making ready 
those at Captain Bluitt’s house, and she always had the 
whole six of them ready at the right hours; so that Miss 
Bluitt felt sure Mrs. Potter could have cooked ninety 
meals a day without losing her presence of mind, if such 


\ 

The Slave-Catchers 2^7 

a demand had suddenly been made upon her remark- 
able resources. 

One day, after dinner, while Captain Bluitt was sitting 
in his library looking over some papers, Hannah Potter 
knocked upon the door and came in, holding one corner 
of her very clean apron, which she seemed to have been 
using to wipe the tears from her eyes. 

Courtesying, and manifesting embarrassment which 
only strong emotion permitted her to overcome, she said : 

“Cap’n Bluitt, if you please, sir, may I have per- 
mission, sir, to speak to you for a moment about a matter 
that is wringing a mother’s heart until it bleeds and 
that’ll bring my hairs down in bitter sorrow to the grave 
unless something shall be speedily done to check it?” 

“Why, certainly Hannah, what is it?” 

“Well, Cap’n Bluitt, that dear darling boy of mine, 
Samuel, who I would have called Lionel instead of the 
horrid name of Samuel if Rufus had been willing, which 
he wasn’t because he said the name of Lionel put him 
in mind of a menagerie, is only a mere babe as it were, 
Cap’n Bluitt, not fit to go far beyond his loving 
mother’s apron-strings where she can watch over him 
and protect him and guide his infant footsteps; and the 
idea of that child hardly old enough to be trusted out of 
the sight of his fond parents’ eyes going to face the awful 
terrors of the great deep simply unnerves me till I’m 
as limp as a rag, Cap’n Bluitt.” 

“Does Sammy want to go to sea?” 

“To the roaring, rolling sea, that mite of a boy who 
only the other day it seems to me was laying in long 
clothes in his cradle hardly able to take notice let alone 
walking! That little bit of a child has heard his dear 
father talking often and often of his perilous feats upon 
the masts of the tossing ships and of his hair-breadth es- 
capes amid the tumultuous billows, until he’s just clean 
crazy, young as he is, to go as a sailor and face the 
howling tempest for himself. I told Rufus many’s the 

17 


2j 8 Captain Bluitt 

time that he’d make that dear child discontented with his 
happy home, hearing his father depicting in such vivid 
terms the startling nature of the wild adventures he had 
been through and seen, but Rufus he would do it, and 
now the fatal consequences have come at last, and that 
mere speck of a baby says he’ll run away and become 
a hardy mariner unless I’ll give him leave to go, which 
I won’t, because I should simply break my heart in twain 
if I did.” 

Mrs. Potter began to cry. 

*‘How old is Samuel?” asked Captain Bluitt. 

“Just past fifteen going on sixteen which he will be 
on the fourteenth day of July next and it would be 
actually wicked for so young a boy and so tender to be 
allowed to go wandering among brutal strangers all over 
the earth and the wild waste of waters tearing his 
mother’s heart-strings; and so I thought maybe good 
Cap’n Bluitt who was a mariner once yourself and so 
as a consequence knows how hard and dangerous the 
life is and wholly unfit for a small atom of a child 
that has hardly got the taste of the nursing-bottle out 
of his mouth, would speak to him and discourage him 
and show him how inexpedient it would be for him to 
fly from the arms of his loving mother to the stormy 
ocean. Won’t you please, please speak to him Cap’n 
Bluitt?” 

“Send him over to me,” said the captain. “I’ll talk 
him out of it.” 

Mrs. Potter went away, and in a few moments Samuel 
Potter entered the room, holding in his hands a battered 
straw-hat, the rim of which he persistently nibbled. He 
was a stout, rosy fellow who looked as if he could man- 
age to remain in a tolerably healthy condition under the 
stress of hardship. 

“Sit down there, my son,” said Captain Bluitt, point- 
ing to a chair. 

“Sammy, my boy,” observed the captain, “you’re a 


The Slave-Catchers 2^9 

fine young fellow, and now that you are growing up to 
be a man, let me tell you that you want to start right. 
If you start right you will go right. If you start wrong 
you will go wrong. Say you want to go to Peru; don’t 
start due North. If you want to go to Jerusalem, don’t 
take the dirt road for Sodom.” 

“Now they tell me you want to be a sailor, my son. 
Is that so?” 

“Yessir.” 

“Very well, then; going to become a sailor. I was 
that way once. I wanted to be a sailor and as I had 
no sense I went to sea. I was a boy, just like you, and 
I thought I’d have lots of fun. That’s what you think, 
isn’t it Sammy?” 

“Yessir.” 

“It’s your idea you’d like to be out on the wide ocean 
listening to the winds roaring and whistling through the 
rigging and seeing the big waves bounding hither and 
thither and the gulls a flying in the tempest. That’s the 
picture you have in your mind, isn’t it Sammy?” 

“Yessir.” 

“Well, my son, you take my advice and drop it! I fol- 
lowed the sea twenty years and more, boy and man, and 
maybe had more luck than most sailors, but do you 
know, Sammy, what else I had?” 

“A bully time, sir.” 

“No, my son; there’s where you’re mistaken. I had 
a hard time. It’s a life not fit for a dog, let alone a 
human being. How’ll you like standing watch on a wet 
deck in the dead of night with the ship rolling and pitch- 
ing and you wet to the skin or taking a turn at the 
wheel in the black darkness or the blind fog when you 
can’t see a hand’s-length in front of you, or running up 
the rigging when every lurch you think she’ll send you 
overboard? How’ll you like that, Sammy?” 

“Fus’ rate, sir!” 

“You’re mistaken, my boy. You think you will. You 


26 o Captain Bluitt 

let your imagination play with it. But you won’t like the 
cold fact. There’s no nice warm bed for you to sleep in 
and no good cooked things to eat. Only a bunk to roll 
about in without any mattress and fat pork and crackers 
and things like that.” 

‘T always liked pork, sir.” 

“And then, Samuel, it’s dreadful to think of a fine boy 
like you sailing about in those deadly hot climates, get- 
ting fevers and things, and the first thing the cannibals 
will swoop down on you and catch you, and there’ll you 
be, with savages skewering you up and cooking you for 
dinner when you might have been at home, if you had 
been a good boy, eating your own dinner with your 
mother’s love around you. Be warned in time, my son.” 

“I’d like to see a real cannibal, sir.” 

“Yes, and Sammy, a live cannibal would like to see 
you, a stout, well-favored boy, with fat on him. But sup- 
posing you escape the cannibals and the fevers, still 
there’s the sharks always following the ship and hungry 
for boys. The chances are two to one you’ll fall over- 
board and then they’ll snap you in half before you can 
get your breath.” 

“Real sharks?” 

“Yes, terrible fellows, with teeth like a rip-saw, and 
never eat anything else when they can get boys. And 
even if the sharks don’t get you, you’re almost certain 
to be wrecked some time and cast on a desert island 
with no clothes on you, and nothing or next to nothing 
to eat, and only rain-water to drink. And maybe there 
you’ll live and live and live, perhaps for years, and never 
see the face of a human being and keep alive by catching 
fish and oysters and wishing you were safe in your dear 
mother’s arms. Keep away from it, my son! Keep 
away from it!” 

“I’d have Friday with me.” 

“Friday? What Friday? How do you mean?” 

“Just like Robinson Crusoe,” 


The Slave-Catchers 261 

Now, Samuel, that is just fiction. No shipwrecked 
mariner ever had such luck as that man. It’s against 
reason. ^ It’s wicked to deceive boys with books like that. 
A sailor s life, my son, is always hard. There’s no poetry 
in it, even if he does go about seeing foreign countries 
and London and Bombay where the turbaned Hindoos 
are, and Naples. Ah, Sammy, there’s a place! Naples! 
Why, my son, I judge the Bay of Naples is the loveliest 
spot on the earth, with the great volcano smoking away 
and the blue water and the blue sky. It’s just fine! But 
you want to wait till you’re grown up and rich and can 
go there comfortably, not as a sailor with a mate to kick 
you and swear at you.” 

“Does the volcano send out fire?” asked Sammy. 

“Sometimes, I suppose. But most likely you’d never 
go near it. Your luck would be to go out in the Pacific 
among the islands, where the people go without clothes 
• — ^just pure heathens — and live on bread fruit and cocoa- 
nuts.” 

Sammy’s eyes glistened. 

“And then there’s the pirates out among those very 
islands. You go sailing along, when all of a sudden a 
schooner appears flying a black flag with skull and cross- 
bones. They fire into you and bring you to, and make 
you a prisoner and the first thing you know they make 
you walk the plank, and where are you then, Sammy? 
Where are you then, when you might be at home in 
your loving mother’s bosom?” 

“They won’t do that to me, sir.” 

“Why not, my son? Why not?” 

“I’d join ’em.” 

“Join them! Become a pirate, Samuel! Do you think 
that would be starting right, Samuel, and you a good 
Sunday School boy, brought up in the way you should 
go in the hope that when you are old you would not de- 
part from it?” 

“Splendid, sir! I’d a great deal ruther be a pirate 
than a minister.” 


262 Captain Bluitt 

“Well, well! It's really almost beyond belief that a 
boy who has had sound Presbyterian influences around 
him from infancy should have yearnings for piracy! It's 
little short of scandalous, Samuel!" 

“Mother says you went to Rome," said Sammy. “I'd 
like to go there and see it." 

This was Captain Bluitt't tender point. 

“And well you may, my son. Well you may. But 
you can't see it if you go as a sailor." 

“Is it anywheres near the Dead Sea, sir?" 

“WTat's that? What? Near the Dead Sea? Why, 
Samuel, where did you learn about the Dead Sea?" 

“Sunday School, sir. Mrs. Frobisher came up and 
drawed it on the black-board." 

“Told you it was near Rome, did she?" 

“I dunno, sir." 

“Well now, my son, take my advice and don't go to 
sea, but if you ever should go, and you should arrange 
to sail up to Rome by way of the Dead Sea, I want you 
to write out a full account of the trip and mail me home 
a letter about it. Yes, Sammy, that’s going to be the 
most remarkable voyage on record." 

“Don't you go that way, sir?" 

“You can go that way, if you've actually made up your 
mind to do it; if you are set on it; yes, it is possible, L 
should think, but I wouldn't make that way the first 
choice, not if I were fond of travelling along bee-lines. 
What you want, Samuel, is to go to school and lay your 
mind alongside your geography lessons. Do you under- 
stand Latin?" 

“No, sir; not much." 

“Well, my son, I don't know so very much about it 
myself; but there's an old Roman proverb that exactly 
expresses my idea of a boy that goes to sea. Dum 
vivimus vivamus — or, too dumb to live. That's what I 
think who followed the sea all my life. Now, you go 
home to your mother and be a good boy and try to get 


The Slave-Catchers 263 

to be a railroad conductor or an auctioneer or some- 
thing thatTI let you stay on dry land.” 

Sammy withdrew; and that night he ran away from 
home and, in the great city, shipped as cabin-boy on a 
brig bound for Liverpool 


CHAPTER XVn 

Through the Way of the Wilderness 

44 ¥ T E led them through the Way of. the Wilder- 
I — I ness.” Often it is a hard and bitter journey, 
JL i with much wandering and stumbling and 
hunger and thirst; but the Power that pre- 
pared the highways of Life seems to have arranged that 
the finger-posts along the primrose paths shall rarely 
point to the Promised Land. 

If love at its very best be indeed Love Triumphant, 
then there must be difficulty as the preliminary of con- 
quest; there must be pang if felicity is to have the acute- 
ness of ecstasy. If Sorrow’s crown of Sorrow be re- 
membering happier things, must it not be that the very 
crown of Joy, as one stands upon the mountain-top in 
the serene atmosphere of victory, is remembrance of the 
travail of the dreary journey across the desert? 

The fiowery bed of ease is never lifted heavenward; 
everything worth having costs, and the price paid for 
the highest things usually has in it some flavor of an- 
guish. There is a strange kind of sweetness even in 
sorrow; and that human nature has some subtle crav- 
ing for it, though we shrink from pain, is proved by the 
familiar fact that lovers who find Fate disposed to make 
their pathway smooth and to cover it with radiance, will 
have a pretext for a quarrel now and then so that there 
may be periods of gloom which will make the sunshine 
seem more glorious when it comes again. 

But these lovers who wooed and cooed in old Turley 
had no need to conjure trouble or to pretend that there 
were giants in a way that was actually free from terrors 
(264) 


The Wilderness 


26J 

and molestations. The monster that confronted them 
was a forbidding reality in the shape of a father, the 
only other man whom the heroine loved, and who felt 
himself impelled to deal with this case of passionate 
affection as he might have done if his daughter had been 
a babe with a fancy for a kitten. 

Much, no doubt, might be done for the amelioration 
of the condition of suffering lovers if Nature had dis- 
played larger benevolence in providing for the benign- 
ancy of fathers. Why a grizzled parent should so often 
be permitted to believe that he knows what will gratify 
the cravings of the soul of the heroine better than she 
herself knows, is a hidden mystery, unless confession 
shall be made that the grey head is not always filled with 
wisdom, and that to some unfortunate men, as years roll 
by, love’s young dream gradually takes on aspects of 
nightmare. 

There are fathers who have drifted so far away from 
all memory of youthful things that they incline to scoff 
at the theory that two kindred souls, made for each 
other, know each their own when they meet, and rush 
together with a passionateness of attraction as if the 
forces of all the universe impelled them. Yes, there are 
men who will deliberately plot that daughters, who want 
love as they want air, shall put it aside and discover if 
fortune and position will not answer reasonably well as 
substitutes. 

When fables are to be manufactured, a man who has 
a lively fancy can stir the blood of the reader and set 
his heart a-beating and supply him with excitement 
almost up to the point of delirium when the tribulations 
of lovers are to be described; but, alas! what shall be 
done with the plain and prosy facts as frowning Fate, 
disregarding human fondness for pictures of lively ad- 
venture, prepared them for the boy and the girl who 
met, and loved, and suffered and wept in Turley? 

Sweet she was, indeed, and holy, if the pure soul be 


266 


Captain Bluitt 

hold; but she was not romantic. She was a gentle, 
shrinking girl to whom obedience to her parents had 
become a fixed, sacred habit; and who would have looked 
with dread not unmingled with feelings of horror upon 
anything that would have distressed her father or would 
have made her the theme of gossip in the community. 
She would have made any sacrifice for Walter Drury 
that involved herself alone; but sacrifice that would tear 
asunder the ties that bound her to her parents and to 
their domestic peace, that she could not make easily. 

And so it came to pass that the way along which they 
had sauntered hand-in-hand thus far with unbroken 
happiness, was at last become so dark and rough and 
difficult that they must halt until the shining path once 
more should be defined. 

Walter had thought that when the golden summer 
came again he should have a fortnight’s holiday which 
he would spend in Turley, a guest in his uncle’s house; 
and he dreamed of other voyages upon the river in that 
boat which had once carried a full cargo of happiness; 
of strolls along the beach in the evenings ; of drives over 
the roads where there had been chestnut-hunting, and 
of church-services whereat he should hear nothing but 
the voice of one singer; but these things were not to be. 

One Sunday morning in the early summer he could 
not restrain himself from taking the train and coming 
to Turley, even though he must go back again before 
night-fall. Letters are delightful, but eye to eye is better. 
And so, when he left the train at Turley station he hur- 
ried toward the church, and found that service had 
begun. 

Stopping in the vestibule before entering the build- 
ing, he discovered that some ceremony, not usual upon 
Sunday morning, was in progression within^ and finding 
Uncle Tarsel by the open door he asked him what was 
going on. 

“Baptisin’, Mars. Drury.” 


The Wilderness 


267 


^‘Baptizing, eh?’’ 

*'\es, suh; dey calls it dat, but dat ain’ no real bap- 
tizin’/’ 

Uncle Tarsel, serving in the Presbyterian Church, was 
a member of the Baptist Society. 

‘‘It isn’t?” replied Walter. “Why not?” 

“It ain’ no baptizin’ fer no colored man, nohow. What 
good is it to sprinkle a liddle water on a brack man when 
you* kin hardly git de tole repravity outen him by puttin’ 
him in de creek an’ summergin’ him? No use fo’ niggers! 
Didden King Naaman go into de water seben times befo’ 
he was clean? chock in an’ unner, ober his head? Didden 
de Utopian Eunuch go down in twel de deep water? 
Ef sprinklin’ would a’ done, he could a’ set solid in his 
chariot an’ nebber tuk his clothes off once! A liddle 
spatterin’ o’ rain won’t wash no man! When he gits 
religion he wants to hunt fo’ a swimmin’-hole an’ touch 
bottom and come up agin.” 

Walter, indifferent at that moment to the questions in- 
volved in the subject, left the old negro and went around 
to the door at which he had entered the church on that 
memorable Sunday of his first visit. 

He took the same seat, and was full of joy that 
Dorothea saw him at once, and smiled as she saw him. 

The singing that morning seemed to him to have 
heavenly beauty; and indeed as she saw him there and 
loved him and knew that he listened with passionate 
delight, she had such inspiration to sing as she had never 
had before. It was lovely to sing, not only because he 
was there, but because deep down in her devout soul was 
a sentiment of gratitude to the Being who had given to 
her such happiness and had made the love of His chil- 
dren for one another so pure and holy and heavenly. 

She heard the sermon and looked at the preacher, 
though she turned her eyes now and then upon him; 
but for him there was no minister and no discourse. 
He saw only her, and cared only for her, and as he 


268 


Captain Bluitt 

looked and looked across the pews and the aisles and 
saw her sweet face he loved her more and more dearly. 

When service was ended she met him at the door and 
he began to walk down the street with her. Young Fro- 
bisher accompanied them to the corner, where he said 
good-bye and went home with a strong resolution to 
express his feelings to Miss Hamilton at an early 
moment in defiance of the fate that restricted the dimen- 
sions of his salary. 

Walter left Dorothea at the door of her home, agree- 
ing to call for her in the afternoon that they might take a 
walk together. 

And so when the day was older they strolled down the 
street and then along the broad pathway in the shade 
of the great trees where they overhung the bank of the 
river. 

It was a lovely June day and there were boats upon 
the stream near to the shore, while further away in the 
channel a ship drawn by a little tugboat went gliding 
up the stream, and a steamboat ploughed its way 
through the waters. The sunshine made the scene more 
beautiful, and even strict Presbyterian principles barely 
availed to restrain the lovers from venturing out once 
more in Captain Bluitt’s row-boat. 

As they walked to and fro, or sat for a while upon 
one of the benches placed here and there upon the sward 
between the pathway and the verge of the bank, Walter 
pleaded with Dorothea that they might arrange for mar- 
riage upon a day not too far distant. 

“The situation, dear,’' he said, “is unpleasant for both 
of us. I have not spoken to your father; he and your 
mother do not make me a welcome visitor to your house; 
our engagement has never been announced. It is not 
the right way. The matter must be dealt with sooner or 
later, and why not now?” 

“I am afraid,” she said. “Mother does not know that 
we are engaged to be married, though I told her that 


The Wilderness 269 

we had confessed our love to each other. She did not 
disapprove; but father, when she told him, did. I do 
not believe he will give his consent easily.” 

“Why should he withhold it? He cannot have any 
good reason.” 

“No, but father has seemed strange sometimes of late — 
not like himself. He is worrying about something, and 
it irritates him.” 

“Still, he is a just man and a sensible man. It is my 
clear duty to speak to him. Then I shall learn what his 
objections are, and perhaps can remove them.” 

“But, Oh! Walter, what if he should forbid me to see 
you?” 

“That is hardly possible, dear, I think. Why should 
he inflict pain upon his own daughter, just in pure 
wantonness? Perhaps some one has misrepresented me 
to him; no doubt I can straighten the matter out when 
I see him. It would be trying to you, wouldn’t it, if he 
should insist that you should not see me?” 

“It would be terrible.” 

“And not write to me?” 

“I cannot bear to think of it.” 

“Well, dearest, if it comes to that, you may have to 
choose between us.” 

“Not to be unkind to my father, dear?” 

“No, you must not be unkind to him; but if a father 
chooses, absolutely without any just pretext, to compel 
a daughter to discard the man she sincerely loves — well, 
Dorry, the situation is a familiar one. I suppose people 
view it in each case differently.” 

“Let. us not consider it now at all,” said Dorothea. 
“The mere thought of it is painful to me.” 

“You are mine,” said Walter, “father or no father.” 
“Yes,” she said in a gentle voice. “Yes, dear, I am 
yours. I cannot give you up.” 

“No man shall take you from me, either,” answered 
Walter. “But, as you say, we need not deal with trouble 


270 Captain Bluitt 

until it comes to us; but it is not right that we should 
postpone the settlement of this matter because we fear 
trouble. I wish to be married. My income is large 
enough to start with. My character and conduct are 
good. I have excellent health. I do not think your 
father can discover any just cause for forbidding you to 
follow your inclination. I will speak to him this very 
week.” 

‘^You will write to him to say that you are coming?” 

“Yes, and I will write to you also. Would he be 
likely to stay at home Thursday evening?” 

‘T think so; but he will not go away if he knows you 
are coming. I shall be dreadfully nervous about it all 
the week, and on Thursday while you are in the house, 
how can I endure not seeing you?” 

“Dorry,” said Walter as they turned homeward, “be 
assured that I will never give you up, never! so long as 
you continue to love me. I am positively certain that 
you are mine in a very high spiritual sense, and no 
human power, not even a father, shall separate us.” 

After church, on that Sunday night, and while Walter 
was sitting alone in his room in the great city, John 
Hamilton and his daughter were together in the library. 
Mrs. Hamilton had gone up stairs, unwilling to be 
present. 

“My daughter,” said Hamilton, “you went out walk- 
ing with young Drury this afternoon, didn’t you?” 

“Yes, father.” 

“You have been driving and rowing with him before 
and he has paid you marked attentions for several 
months. He writes to you frequently?” 

“Yes.” 

“These things were displeasing to me from the first. 
I never liked the man. I did not forbid you to go with 
him or to receive visits from him, because I disliked to 
deprive you of pleasure, but I could hardly have believed 
that your acquaintance with him would go any further 


The Wilderness 271 

than mere acquaintance. Now mother tells me that he 
nas expressed himself seriously to you.” 

“He has.” 

. . you have some regard for him and have told 
him so? 

“I love him.” 

“My daughter, this is very painful to me. I have always 
known you to be a girl of good judgment and sound 
sense, whom I could trust to act wisely in such matters; 
but i fear you have not shown wisdom in this case.” 
what particular, father?” 

^ “Well, my dear, it is not easy to be perfectly explicit 
m such a matter. A young person without experience 
of the world, cannot, even after an explanation, under- 
stand the view of an older person who has had large 
experience. A boy, if he could see himself as he will 
if years later, would not, for example, comprehend 
that older self; and so, you must simply accept my judg- 
ment that Drury is not a suitable person for you.” 

“You have really known very little of him, father.” 

I know more than you suppose.” It was mean for 
Hamilton to suggest that he had private information, 
when in fact he had none. “The moment I saw him I 
took his measure. I knew him for a man not worthy 
of such a girl as you.” 

“But I am not a child. You say that I have good 
judgment and sound sense. I know Walter well, and 
I am sure that he is a singularly high-minded man.” 

“Girls always have that notion about any one they 
happen to fancy. It is because they have no experience 
and are governed by feeling. How many lives have 
been wrecked because sentiment has been permitted to 
blind women to the truth!” 

“If you think Walter is unworthy, you must have 
some basis for the opinion, and you will tell me what 
it is?” 

“Well, for one thing, he belongs with very plain, very 


272 


Captain Bluitt 

common people. The Bluitts are accepted here because 
they have means and live well and are inoffensive; but 
really they are not our social equals.” 

“Father, I think they are. They have some oddities, 
but they are thoroughly respectable, and in all Turley 
there is not a kinder-hearted or more upright man than 
Captain Bluitt.” 

“You know that Mrs. Frobisher and her friends re- 
gard them as their inferiors.” 

“It is not like you to say that, father. I know you 
think Mrs. Frobisher’s family pretensions absurd.” 

“No, we have a right to be careful about such things, 
particularly where our children are concerned. If I 
should permit you to receive this young man, you would 
have to be intimate with his relations.” 

*T should be perfectly satisfied.” 

“And who are his parents? I know nothing of them. 
What is his father’s occupation?” 

‘•‘Both of his parents are dead. His father was a mer- 
chant in the city. He failed in the panic of i 837 > sud died 
some years later, leaving nothing.” 

“Exactly! leaving nothing. The son has nothing. He 
has tried one business after another, and has succeeded 
in none.” 

“He has succeeded in journalism, succeeded wonder- 
fully.’^ 

“But that is a miserable business. The pay is always 
poor. The occupation is precarious. I do not want my 
daughter to marry so that she shall be condemned to a 
life of poverty.” 

“Do you want to have her marry for money?” 

“Well, not just that; but there are hundreds of attrac- 
tive men who have wealth and who would be delighted to 
have the chance to address you.” 

“Who are they?” 

“Of course I do not care to designate any one of 
them?” 


27 ? 


The Wilderness 

Suppose I should not want any of them?’^ 

“My child, I am far from wishing you to take a sordid 
view of so important a matter, but one of the things we 
learn as we grow older is that our feelings may be largely 
controlled in such cases if we choose to control them.” 

Dorothea began to regard her father with less rever- 
ence than she had done. A feeling of bitterness sprang 
up in her mind. 

“I might as well tell you plainly, father,” she said, 
with reddened cheek and a firm voice, “that I will never 
consent to marry any man but Walter Drury; and I must 
tell you also, that his income is almost as large as yours, 
and it will be larger.” 

Hamilton could hardly repress the sentiment of dis- 
gust and indignation with which he heard this declara- 
tion; but he said, coldly: 

“Very well; then I must tell you, Dorry, with equal 
plainness, that I cannot give my consent to your affilia- 
tion with this young man and I insist that your relations 
with him shall be broken off. That is my last word 
upon the subject.” 

Dorothea withdrew and went to her room to have a 
good cry. 

On Thursday night Walter came down to Turley and 
went to the Hamilton house with a purpose to perform 
a difficult task with courage and yet, remembering that 
this man was dear to the woman he loved, with strong 
restraint upon tongue and temper. 

“I have the girl/* he said, remembering Uncle Bluitt’s 
counsel, given to him almost a year ago, “and her father*s 
feeling is very much a minor consideration.” 

John Hamilton received his visitor with politeness, 
but with marked coldness of demeanor. His mind was 
made up. He thought himself completely fortified 
against any argument that could be presented to him. 
He permitted Walter to present his case without any 
preliminary observations from him, the stem parent. 

i8 


274 


Captain Bluitt 

“Mr. Hamilton/’ said Walter, “yon know the purpose 
of my visit. I have formed an attachment for Dorothea, 
which is reciprocated, and it is necessary that I should 
speak to you of it.” 

“Very necessary,” observed Hamilton. 

“We were attracted to each other the very first time 
we met, and I am sure there is complete and genuine de- 
votion upon both sides.” 

Hamilton made no answer. He seemed to prefer that 
Walter should continue. 

“I am in a good profession. I am successful. I have 
an income large enough for two young persons to begin 
life with. I am in sound health, and if you wish to make 
inquiry respecting my character, I shall be glad to refer 
you to persons who know me well.” 

“I have no such desire.” 

“You may have looked into the matter,” said Walter. 
“If so, I am confident you obtained no evil report. I 
now ask you, respectfully, to permit me to make Doro- 
thea my wife.” 

“I cannot give my consent,” said Hamilton. 

“I am deeply sorry to hear you say so; but I will be 
frank and say that I had been warned of your disap- 
proval of the marriage.” 

“I disapprove it positively and absolutely.” 

“As this is of very serious importance to your daugh- 
ter and to me, and as in some degree it reflects upon me, 
may I ask that you will be good enough to tell me why 
you refuse your consent?” 

“I think it to the best interest of my child that I should 
do so; that appears to me to be reason enough.” 

“Will you pardon me, Mr. Hamilton, if I say I think 
both she and I are entitled to a more specific statement 
of your objections? She is no longer a child; she is a 
woman; and it is not a light matter for either of us that 
even her father should interpose where her most sacred 
feelings, and mine, are deeply engaged.” 


The Wilderness 


27 ) 

Young people often have such feelings more than 
once in their lives; and frequently exaggerate their 
strength and their importance. Dorothea is my own 
daughter, under my authority, and I do not fully admit 
the right of any one — any stranger, to demand my rea- 
sons for dealing with her in this way or in that way.’’ 

“I am far from venturing to question your rightful 
measure of authority with her, or her duty to pay respect 
to you; but surely you cannot be entirely indifferent to 
her wishes where her happiness — the happiness of her 
whole life is involved.” 

“It is her happiness that I consider when I refuse my 
consent,” said Hamilton, coldly. 

“Do you think I can be indifferent to it?” asked 
Walter. 

“Really I do not know.” 

“Mr. Hamilton, I ask you to tell me frankly, even if 
you shall hurt my feelings, why you make objection to 
me. I waive any pretence to a right to demand an 
answer. I earnestly beg you to give it to me.” 

“I do not like your family, I do not admire you, I 
think you are in a precarious business, and consider you 
hardly deserving of such a wife as my daughter would 
make for a suitable man. There! since you insist upon 
an answer and that I shall be perfectly candid, I tell you 
some of my objections.” 

Walter did not at once reply; but, repressing his anger, 
at last he said: 

“I dislike to make such comparisons, but I am com- 
pelled to say that my father’s station in life was quite as 
high as yours; that my business is no more precarious 
than aqy other business or profession, and that if Doro- 
thea admires me, that seems really more important, under 
the circumstances, than that her father should do so.” 

“That is not my opinion.” 

^‘You would then have her suitor seek your favor 
first?” 


276 Captain Bluitt 

‘‘Young man,” said Hamilton, looking hard at him, 
“I do not care to be subjected to an inquisition of just 
that kind.” 

Walter again reflected before speaking. Then he said: 

“Are you willing that the matter of marriage should 
be left open for a time, and that I should see Dorothea 
sometimes and write to her? Perhaps when you know 
me better, you may change your opinion.” 

“No, I shall never change it. I wish you to discon- 
tinue at once all attention to my daughter.” 

“Do you mean that I shall give her up finally?” 

“Yes.” 

“Do you not reflect that this would inflict terrible pain 
upon her?” 

“I have fully considered the consequences.” 

“Nor that it may blast her life and mine?” 

“Do not talk nonsense.” 

“Is it your irrevocable decision, then, that I must 
give her up?” 

“It is.” 

“Well, I tell you plainly, I will not do it!” 

Walter spoke sharply and rose from his chair. 

Hamilton did not move. 

“Yes, you will,” he said. 

“I will not! I will never give her up. I have tried 
to be courteous with you, because you are her father. 
I want to speak respectfully to you now; but a father’s 
authority stops somewhere — your own father’s authority 
over you came to an end, and your authority stops right 
here! I will marry Dorothea without your approval if 
you will not be just enough to give it.” 

Hamilton rose and opened the door into the hall. 

“Young man,” he said, “don’t come here again; don’t 
attempt to see my daughter, and if you write to her in 
defiance of my prohibition, your letters will be returned.” 

Walter went out, wishing he dare strike the man, and 
'With wild rage in his heart walked to the river-bank, 


277 


The Wilderness 

where for an hour or more he paced to and fro, in a 
frenzy of anger and disappointment, wondering what 
next he should do. 

He thought of a dozen wild projects for defying 
Dorothea’s father and for obtaining revenge for his in- 
solence; but his judgment told him that he had better 
form no plans until he could have time for reflection. 
He must, however, see Dorothea and consult with her, 
and he resolved to write to Mrs. Burns that very night 
to ask her to invite Miss Hamilton to her house one 
afternoon of the succeeding week. 

Walter entered his uncle’s home, and after writing the 
note to Mrs. tlurns and obtaining from his aunt the 
promise that it should reach its destination in the morn- 
ing, he related to Captain Bluitt and Miss Bluitt, in the 
few moments that were available before he must take 
the train for the city, the particulars of his interview 
with Hamilton. 

They could hardly express their indignation.” 

“The idea,” exclaimed Miss Bluitt, “of his daring to 
say that our family is not as good as his! They are 
nobodies! Literally nobodies!” 

“Dorothea is somebody, aunt.” 

“I except her, and Mrs. Hamilton, too. But the 
father! It is perfectly scandalous for him to make such 
high pretensions! Why, do you know what his father 
was ?” 

“What?” 

“Some kind of a barber or something, I think.” 

“Not a barber, Puella,” said the captain. “He was a 
note and bill broker up in the city.” 

“You told me yourself, brother, that he shaved things, 
somehow.” 

“No! Florabella Burns said she heard somebody say 
he shaved notes.” 

“Very well, then; that’s what I say. I knew he shaved 
something somewhere. It’s all the same, and the idea 


278 Captain Bluitt 

of his son pretending to look down on Walter! You’re 
too good for him, Walter.” 

“Not for Dorry,” said Walter, smiling. 

“No, no! she will make you just a perfect wife, per- 
fect! And you’ll marry her, won’t you? in spite of her 
horrid father?” 

“Yes,” replied Walter, “if she will have me.’' 

“Well, she will, Wally,” said the captain. “I know 
that angel girl well — indisputably an angel — -and you 
needn’t be afraid that she will give you up. As for John 
Hamilton — well, my boy, I told you I didn’t like him, and 
now you can guess why. He is not my kind of a man — 
nor your’s. Still, you must take your bearings right in 
dealing with him. You don’t want to quarrel with your 
wife’s father if you can help it, do you?” 

“Surely not.” 

“You are his superior in every way,” added the cap- 
tain, as Walter rose to say good-bye, “and for him to 
make a fling at you about your family not being good 
enough, — well, as Seneca said — or perhaps it was Scipio 
Africanus, or some one of those people over there — any- 
how, some one of them said, nascitur non fit; and that’s 
what I say; it’s nasty and not fit! He ought to be 
ashamed of himself.” 

On Monday Walter received from Florabella Burns a 
letter telling him that Dorothea would be at Mrs. Burns’s 
house on Thursday afternoon, and Mrs. Burns, unable 
to restrain an expression of sympathy for the victims of 
cruel wrong, added a postscript: 

“You poor dear things! Isn’t it horrid? Doesn’t the 
man remember when he was in love himself? Come to 
her and wipe her weeping eyes! I will be a mother to 
you both.” 

When Walter on Thursday reached the dwelling of the 
sympathetic and consolatory Burns, that lady met him 
almost at the door. She had been watching for him. 
She greeted him warmly and then she said; 


279 


The Wilderness 

''You must really excuse me. I am right in the midst 
of a lot of sewing and other work. Go right in there 
and see Dorry.’’ 

When he had embraced her and kissed her, he re- 
tained her hand in his and they sat together upon the 
sofa. He told her what her father had said to him, and 
as he spoke the tears came to her eyes. He saw that 
she had been weeping before he came. 

“O Walter!” she said, “what shall we do about it?” 

“There are but three possible things to do, dear, so 
far as I can see. To run away, or to defy your father 
openl}^, or to give each other up.” 

“And we can do none of these, of course, can we?” 

“I don’t know,” said Walter. 

“Running away — why you would not wish me to do 
that, and have public scandal? We cannot consider 
that?” 

“No; I should not be willing to adopt that plan; not 
now, at any rate.” 

“And I can’t give you up?” 

He leaned over and kissed her: 

“It is not worth while even to discuss that.” 

“As for defying father; think what that would mean, 
dear, for me! I love him and have always reverenced 
him, and never once before has he treated me with un- 
kindness. If there should be a quarrel — O, Walter dear, 
I cannot bear even to think of a quarrel with my father — 
it would give mother bitter sorrow; it would destroy our 
domestic happiness. Dear, there must be some other 
way of meeting this great trouble.” 

“Can you think of one?” 

“Why can we not simply wait? We are both young; 
there is plenty of time. Something may happen to 
change father’s mind.” 

“And meanwhile, I am not to see you or to hear from 
you, or to write to you?’^ 

“Dreadful, isn’t it?” 


28 o 


Captain Bluitt 

“Dorry/’ said Walter, “I should not mind waiting 
if we could correspond and sometimes meet, but to be 
thrust apart for no good reason, senselessly, and to be 
kept apart, that I am not willing to endure. You are 
no child. You are in your nineteenth year. Both law 
and custom make you independent of your parents.’" 

“Yes, dear, I know it; but I can’t throw aside my love 
for them, like an old garment.” 

“I do not wish to speak unkindly of your father, 
though he was most unkind to me; but, unless he 
can give some reason far better than he has given, 
either to you or me, why you should not be mine, he 
has no right, moral, civil or parental, to try to override 
your wishes.” 

“That is true, and I am sure he will see this, after a 
while, and withdraw his refusal. I told you that he 
had not been quite like himself lately.” 

“I don’t believe he will change,” said Walter. “He 
said he disliked me the first time he saw me, and I felt 
that he did. No, there is no hope in that direction. I 
am willing to do almost anything, but I am not willing 
to be cut off from all communication from you.” 

“Nor would it do, dear, to meet here, would it? I 
don’t like clandestine meetings.” 

“Nor I. I have done nothing to be ashamed of. You 
are not ashamed of me; and I consider it unworthy of 
my self-respect and of your’s that we should act stealthily 
and employ concealment because your fafher is out- 
rageously unjust.” 

“Even secret correspondence seems to be not quite 
honorable, Walter, does it?” 

“No; but not quite so bad as secret meetings. If I 
were not afraid of a disgraceful scene I would call to 
see you at your house, in spite of your father.” 

“No, dear, not that! Not now!” 

“Well, Dorry, it looks to me as if you would have to 


The Wilderness 


281 

decide whether you care more for your father or for 
me. 

“For you, my dearest; but I can’t help caring for him 
also, and for mother; and what can I do?” 

“I am not going to insist upon it, at this moment, at 
any rate, but I am inclined to think that we shall have 
to notify your father that we will be married and then 
let him do his worst. What can he do?” 

“He can make misery for me and for mother; and scan- 
dal, in the whole town. Walter, dear, I cannot bear 
that,” 

He was less considerate than he should have been. 
He was becoming impatient and losing his temper. 

“Well, that is what is coming, if it must be. Sooner 
or later you will be compelled to choose between diso- 
beying your father or dissolving your relations with me.” 

“Let us wait,” she said, gently. “And now I must 
go. It will not do for me to stay longer. They will 
suspect me.” 

“Yes, suspect! There it is. You are treated as if you 
were a criminal.” 

As they rose, she put her arms about his neck and 
cried. He kissed her tenderly, and said. 

“Forgive me, if I spoke harshly. We will wait, as 
you say. But I will write to you, and you will answer 
my letters?” 

“Father has forbidden it, but — ” 

“But you must write to me,” he said. 

“I will think about it dear, and try to determine what 
is right.” 

He kissed her again and he went to the door with 
her; and as she walked away, Mrs. Burns came down 
stairs. 

“Walter,” she said, “you must not be impatient with 
Dorry. Wait a while and the tangle will be straightened 
out and you will love her more because you had this 
trouble.” 


282 Captain Bluitt 

Upon his way home in the train that night, Drury re- 
solved that he would try patiently to bear the heavy 
burden of separation put upon him by an unjust man 
to bear it for a time in the hope that some way would 
be discovered for removing the burden. But he also 
determined that he would write to Dorothea in defiance 
of her father’s prohibition. To have no communication 
would be insupportable. 

The next day he wrote a letter, and when John Ham- 
ilton took it from the post-office, he put it in his pocket 
and kept it there. 

For nearly a week Walter waited with increasing im- 
patience for an answer, and then he wrote again. This 
letter also found its way into Hamilton’s pocket. 

Receiving no reply, Walter wrote a third time, direct- 
ing the letters to the care of Saul Tarsel, who he knew 
saw Dorothea at the church at least twice every week. 

When Saul received the letter, he turned to find some 
one to read the address, and of course the man he turned 
to was Hamilton. 

‘That is mine,” said Hamilton, “it is for my daughter. 
It is all right,” and the letter went into his pocket. 

Walter was angry and bitter, when, as the days ran by, 
he found that no response came to him. 

“She will not write because her father forbids. She 
cares more for him than for me.” 

He thought to make another venture and write a letter 
to be transmitted by Mrs. Burns, but he began to harden 
his heart. “If she loved me truly she would write with- 
out waiting to hear from me.” 

He laughed scornfully as he thought of what she had 
said about loving him instantly. “The two souls made 
for each other, and that flew together, seem to be badly 
sundered now. Possibly Frobisher, being on the ground, 
finds more favor than he did.” 

He was conscious that this was unjust, but he per- 
mitted his bitter humor to dominate him. 


The Wilderness 283 

Man-like, lie threw all the blame upon her and pre- 
tended to think himself the only martyr and to contem- 
plate his own suffering, as if she too did not suffer. 

She would not write, for her father’s sake, but she 
thought that if Walter should write to her she could 
not refuse to answer him. She waited for a letter, waited 
and waited through weeks of dreariness and heart-ache 
and bitter grief, but no line came to her from the man 
she loved. 

The mother tried to comfort her, but she would not be 
comforted. Her father observed, but pretended not to 
notice, her sadness; and at any rate he was deep in crime 
by this time and consumed by his desire that McCann’s 
Motor should show some sign of becoming a profitable 
investment. His heart was hardened by guilt and by 
covetousness. 

Walter sent no more letters and Dorothea still waited 
for him. She bought every day the journal for which 
he wrote, and read eagerly the articles she thought were 
his. She read and re-read his old letters to her a hun- 
dred times and kissed them, and the daguerreotype of 
him which she kept hidden in her bureau drawer was 
kissed again and again when she had looked at it until 
her eyes grew weary. 

She felt that she could sing no more at church, but 
she must try, and when she sang she looked across to 
the place where he had first heard her on that Sunday 
long ago, and then her voice quavered and she could 
hardly restrain her tears. 

She thought of the chestnut-hunt and the row on the 
river and the loitering upon Graver’s Point, and she 
recalled his words, the tones of his voice, the smile upon 
his face, and all the joyfulness that had made her life so 
happy. 

The full summer came, and she walked by the river 
Bank and said to herself, “Perhaps he may come to 
Turley to-day and I shall meet him. Perhaps he will 


284 Captain Bluitt 

pass our house and look for me as he did once before 
I knew him.” 

But he did not come and her heart was desolate. She 
heard sometimes of him. He spent his vacation at the 
sea-side, sad and tired and longing for one who was 
far away. But he could not be alone at a great hotel. 
He must join with the company about him in their pleas- 
ures. And so up to Turley came stories, carried by 
eager obsers^ant people, that Walter was the gayest of 
the party, and that he went about much with a certain 
alluring Marietta Binns whom he had known at his 
boarding-house. 

And thus the wounded girl in Turley was stabbed 
again and again by gossip until her anguish was almost 
beyond endurance. 

Sometimes she thought she would write to him, despite 
her father. Sometimes she thought she would indeed 
defy her father and give herself to Walter. But, then, 
what if Walter had grown cold? What if she had driven 
him away by her too strong sense of duty to her father? 
She had heard that men were fickle; that absence dimin- 
ishes affection; that a lovelier woman may disturb the 
devotion of one who has pledged himself to another. 

But she would not believe that Walter loved her less. 
No, what could he do, considering her father's conduct 
towards him ? He could not come to her or write to her. 
She felt that she would one day reach the condition 
which would permit her to regard her father’s prohibi- 
tion lightly. Yes indeed, as she thought of the absent 
man, and loved him and yearned for him and wept for 
him she often said to herself, in grim earnest: 

'Tf I could have him for mine at any cost, I would pay 
it. I would live in a hovel. I would suffer for food. I 
would endure any fatigue. I would face any danger, yea, 
I would without a moment’s hesitation cut off my hand 
or tear out one of my eyes if I could have his arms around 
me and hear him tell me that he loves me,” 


The Wilderness 28^ 

But, alas, there seemed to be no way out. The dark- 
ness was just black darkness for her soul, and there was 
but one thing left for her: her religion. 

She could pray and love and trust; pray for patience 
in the great sorrow that had come upon her; pray and 
pray and pray that the Divine Father who gave him to 
her would one day give him back again ; and then say to 
herself, over and over, in the words that came to her 
across the centuries: 

'‘Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust also in him, 
and he shall bring it to pass. Rest in the Lord and wait 
patiently for him.” 

The day was indeed not far distant when her lover was 
to come to her again ; but Sorrow was to stay with her. 


CHAPTER XVni 

Politics in Turley 

W HEN the August sun grew hot and hotter until 
men and women were almost stifled and the 
land was parched and there seemed a chance 
that the river might reach the boiling-point, 
Billy Grimes and the politicians began to prepare for the 
fall campaign, as indifferent to the ferocity of the tem- 
perature as they were to the fact that Grief sat enthroned 
in Turley and that hearts were bruised and torn and 
aching. 

The primary elections were held in August, when 
choice was made of candidates whose names should be 
placed upon the party-tickets for the election in October. 

There was a theory in Turley that if a man really 
wanted to exercise potent influence in the local govern- 
ment he should attend the primary election and help to 
direct the selection of candidates; and there was another 
and fonder theory that the people did indeed possess what 
Billy Grimes and his friends often spoke of in terms of 
warm praise as the privilege of local self-government. 

But nobody knew better than Billy that theory in this 
case was widely separated from practical fact. He was 
well aware that seventy-five per cent, of the voters paid 
no attention at all to the primary elections, and he knew 
that if they had done so Billy and his men would cer- 
tainly count the votes wrong if the voters should happen 
to prefer the candidates whom Billy did not want. 

So every year in August a few party men went lazily 
to the polls and signified their assent to the ticket that 
Billy Grimes had put upon his ‘‘slate” far back in the 
(286) 


Politics in Turley 287 

preceding winter-time; and the candidates thus obtained 
what was regarded as a “regular” nomination. Mr. 
Grimes and the patriots who with him devoted their atten- 
tion to saving the country, knew that the regular party 
ticket would be elected in October, unless something of a 
surprising and almost unprecedented nature should occur 
to induce a few Democrats, belonging to the majority, to 
go over to the Whigs, who were the minority. 

Both Whigs and Democrats believed that the people 
governed; but Billy Grimes could have told them (though 
he never did) that while twenty-five per cent, of the citi- 
zens rarely went to the polls at all, and while seventy 
per cent, of those who put the ballot in the box never 
failed to vote “the straight ticket,” Mr. Grimes the slate- 
maker really governed Turley and with power more 
nearly absolute than if he had worn a petty crown. 

He governed Turley, not for the people’s sake, or 
wholly for his own sake, but as the loyal henchman of 
Colonel Bly, who governed the state. 

Most of the men in Turley belonged to the two great 
political parties, the Democratic and the Old Line Whig. 
Within a few years a third party had come into exist- 
ence — the Know Nothing party, which suspected the 
Pope of cherishing as the main purpose of his life the 
overthrow of the glorious institutions established by our 
Revolutionary fathers and cemented (as the orators of 
the party often said) by the blood and the tears of 
patriots. The Know Nothings believed that this nefar- 
ious and destructive design of the Pontiff had more or 
less hearty approval of foreigners generally, but particu- 
larly was it favored by Europeans who sat on thrones and 
wielded sceptres. These persons were thought to scowl 
at the menacing spectacle of the young Republic across 
the Atlantic growing to a giant’s strength and giving out 
plain intimations that the time was fast coming when 
beneath its influences thrones would totter, sceptres be 


288 


Captain Bluitt 

wrested from the hands of despots and the despots them- 
selves be sent reelng into oblivion. 

But the Know Nothings were few in number and no- 
body, excepting the Pope and the occupants of the 
thrones, really cared much about them. Billy Grimes 
contemplated them with bold disdain, excepting when he 
wished to buy a dozen or two votes in a close election. 

There was a somewhat pathetic fragment of a Prohibi- 
tion Party, which regarded the complete extermination of 
the traffic in alcoholic beverages as the only reform really 
required for bringing heaven to earth again; but in Turley 
there were no more than three Prohibitionists, two of 
them meek and shy men whom nobody regarded, and 
the third a Baptist deacon who was aggressive and 
vociferous, but who was looked upon by the community 
as a harmless enthusiast whose preference for cold water 
had in it something of what may be called denominational 
influence. 

The Old Line Whigs had always been a minority in 
Turley, chiefly perhaps because the more prosperous and 
best-educated citizens were Whigs, with the result that 
the persons of other classes received a strong impulse to 
join the Democrats. But in truth it would perhaps not 
have been easy for most of the members of either party to 
explain clearly why they found themselves enlisted in the 
ranks of their respective organizations. 

Usually, in the case of the perfectly respectable citizen, 
he was a Democrat or a Whig because his ancestors had 
been Democrats or Whigs. It was a familiar declara- 
tion that “My father and my grandfather were Democrats 
and I never voted any other ticket in my life.’’ Thus men 
who were honest and sincerely patriotic frequently per- 
mitted the influence of their deceased relatives to induce 
them to shut their eyes to the unfit character of the 
persons named upon their party-ticket and to vote the 
whole ticket at the elections with a dimly perceived feel- 


Politics in Turley 289 

ing that in doing so they were not only standing firmly 
by family tradition and practice, but also performing a 
service of importance to their country. 

Some cynical members of that small minority which 
owned no party affiliations, but did good work for the 
community by voting for one set of candidates or the 
other as they thought right, had more than once re- 
marked upon the oddity of the fact that the Chinese 
worship of ancestors should have obtained such hold 
upon modern Americans as to impel them to sacrifice 
their money, their manhood and even the interests of 
their government, to the memory of dead men who prob- 
ably never cast a vote directed by intelligence and clear 
perception of the requirements of righteousness. 

The solid and stolid Whigs were rarely contented to 
declare themselves mere Whigs. Emphasis was always 
given to the circumstance that they were “Old Line’’ 
Whigs; as if the Old Line Whig were a Whig of a more 
intense, eager and resolute nature than a Whig who was 
not “Old Line;” although in fact no Whig had ever been 
discovered or had voluntarily revealed himself who was 
not of the Old Line variety. Nobody had attempted to 
explain the difference between the two kinds of Whigs, 
if two kinds existed, nor could any of the Turley Whigs 
have said precisely what the words Old Line meant in 
that connection, or why there should not be Old Line 
Democrats (of which no one had ever heard) as well as 
Old Line Whigs; but the prefix was retained and urged 
and dwelt upon as if it expressed a fact and a qualifica- 
tion of the highest importance. 

Thus also the Democrats were always Jeffersonian 
Democrats. Nobody had ever known in Turley or in the 
state a Democrat who was not of the Jeffersonian school; 
but the feeling existed that if a man ever should appear 
and proclaim himself a Democrat and yet should not 
confess that he was a Jeffersonian Democrat, his claim to 
membership in the party would be regarded with sus- 

19 


290 Captain Bluitt 

picion even though his vote might be received with 
welcome. 

There were Indeed many members of the organization 
who knew the source of the word Jeffersonian and who 
had some sort of comprehension of the political theories 
of which Jefferson was the exponent and representative; 
but most of the Democrats of Turley had been born in 
Europe and even those of them who could read English 
had not acquired very large acquaintance with American 
history. Few of these persons had inquiring minds and 
they were Jeffersonian Democrats because that was the 
popular method of indicating the source of the party's 
creed. They would have found it quite as agreeable and 
reasonable to be Johnsonian Democrats or Thompsonian 
Democrats or Parkinsonian Democrats. Among the 
members of the party were some whose minds yielded 
now and then to impulses of curiosity and with these 
there were dim impressions that the party got its name 
because it may have been started up in Jefferson County, 
or that the founder was a man who fought the British 
in 1812. 

The foremost man in the party in the state was Colonel 
Bly. The colonel often declared in his speeches that he 
was a Jeffersonian Democrat from the crown of his head 
to the soles of his feet. This always elicited storms of 
applause from audiences who felt that the colonel in 
thus expressing the fact that Jeffersonian Democracy had 
penetrated and lodged permanently in every fibre of his 
being, had revealed a truth which gave a heroic flavor 
to his character while it promised vast, if not clearly per- 
ceived, advantages to our common country. 

Colonel Bly had begun at the very bottom in politics 
as a “worker" in one of the wards of the largest city in 
the state. He pushed his way upward with remarkable 
rapidity, but he never acquired a really firm grip upon the 
party o-rganization until he completed successfully what 


Politics in Turley 291 

was alluded to at the time as his famous "'deal” with the 
Shiawassee Indians. 

The colonel was the principal owner of a bank in the 
town of Donovan. It was a very small bank, with a very 
large note-issue, and it was regarded by prudent bankers 
as an institution with which dealings should be conducted 
with extreme circumspection. 

Rather early in his career Colonel Bly, by some means, 
obtained an appointment from the federal government as 
disbursing agent for the Shiawassee Indians. To those 
unfortunate children of the forest, herded upon a reser- 
vation, the government owed two hundred and eighty 
thousand dollars for bounties and land-purchases. This 
money was paid in gold to Colonel Bly, and the theory 
was that the colonel would convey it bodily to the Shia- 
wassee beneficiaries. Colonel Bly had quite different 
plans for conducting the transaction. He procured from 
his bank two hundred and eighty thousand dollars of its 
notes, and, depositing the gold, he proceeded to the reser- 
vation, turned over the notes to the chief of the tribe, 
took his receipt in full, and then came home. The bank 
failed four days before the guileless red men could have 
managed, by any means, to present the notes for redemp- 
tion. 

This was regarded by the politicians generally as a 
masterpiece of dexterous business, and from that moment, 
his genius for practical politics fully recognized, and the 
condition of his fortunes making him the object of envy. 
Colonel Bly assumed the leadership of his party in the 
state. 

The colonel’s declared position was that of the party’s 
leader. In fact he was its master. He knew how to 
make concessions here and there, particularly in small 
local elections, where the people might have grown 
restive under interference from an outsider; but upon the 
whole his will was law and if he wdshed a man to be 
nominated for any office that man’s name appeared upon 


292 


Captain Bluitt 

the ticket. He had made and he directed a great organi- 
zation which had effective operation in every part of the 
state. His man managed the machinery in each county, 
and answered to the colonel for that county. 

The county man had his men in every voting precinct 
and each precinct man held and directed a compact body 
of voters who never failed to do his will. The process 
by which they worked was to select for places upon the 
ticket the men whom they desired to favor, to have the 
trained workers vote for these men at the primary elec- 
tions from which most of the voters remained away, and 
then to depend upon the enthusiasm of the whole body 
of Democrats to carry the ticket through on election 
day — enthusiasm born simply of habit, of ancestral prac- 
tice and of the devotion of the Jeffersonian Democrats 
to the Grand Old Party “and the regular ticket.’’ That 
the ticket was “regular” was usually enough for the old 
Jeffersonian Democrats, even though it represented both 
incompetency and rascality. 

The colonel left the smaller local affairs to the county 
manager and to the precinct men. All he asked was 
that the nominees to the state offices and to the superior 
county positions should be first of all faithful to him. 
Always they were. The colonel was the source of polit- 
ical advancement. The man favored by him always got 
a place of some kind under the government. The 
political aspirant upon whom he frowned was lost. Thus 
he had the friendship and support of a great army of 
people every one of whom hoped to edge himself into a 
public place with a comfortable salary before he died. 

This was the secret of the colonel’s power. He and 
his county subordinates had promised every office in the 
state twenty years ahead, and sometimes had made more 
promises than could be kept in half a century. But, when 
any man encountered a broken promise he was promised 
something else and, at any rate, he dared not complain, 
for the colonel’s disfavor would have shut the door of 


Politics in Turley 293 

hope upon him. By such means the colonel kept his 
followers faithful; and although it was a ticklish game, 
he had played it successfully for twenty years and there 
really appeared to be no reason why he should not play 
it for twenty years more if, unhappily, his life should be 
so long spared. 

As the colonel never sought an office for himself, per- 
sons of not very alert minds were sometimes puzzled to 
understand why he should take so much trouble and do 
so much hard work and exercise so much skill in keep- 
ing the game a-going. In an indolent sort of way they 
inclined to attribute his action to devotion to the princi- 
ples of Thomas Jefferson. Other people perceived that 
the man had, in the first place, an inordinate and insa- 
tiable love of power, and this obtained some gratification 
from the manner in which he ruled a great community of 
free men who actually believed that they were engaged in 
governing themselves. 

But the colonel’s love of power was accompanied by 
another affection of quite even, or perhaps greater, in- 
tensity. He was engaged in no business and he had no 
salary; but he had grown rich during the period in which 
he managed the Democratic machine. Some of the 
sources of his later wealth were not positively known even 
to sharp-witted people, although hints had been circulated 
respecting transactions which would have put another 
man in the penitentiary. That a great railroad company 
would rather pay a large sum than to have irritating and 
hurtful legislation adopted by the General Assembly was 
obvious, and no man in the state could control legisla- 
tion like the party manager who had selected almost every 
Democrat in that body and put him in office with his own 
hands. It was clearly perceived that the colonel could 
start such legislation and could halt it at any stage of 
its movement through the houses; and much legislation 
of such a kind had been started and stopped since the 
colonel’s hands held the sceptre. 


294 Captain Bluitt 

The colonel always owned the State Treasurer, and 
the Treasury always had balances running up into mil- 
lions. The law designated no public depositories and 
of course said nothing about interest upon deposits of 
public money. But the money always was placed in 
banks, and the use of it was worth much to these insti- 
tutions. The Bank of Turley, for example, could have 
sworn that it never paid a dollar of interest to anybody 
for such deposits; but the results would have been un- 
pleasant for the directors if they had been asked if they 
ever contributed to the Democratic campaign-fund, or if 
such contributions would foot up anywhere near to three 
per cent, upon such deposits. The colonel handled all 
the campaign-funds and never had an audit or an account- 
ing. The colonel had always avoided the inconvenient 
practice of keeping books. 

Thus the colonel had plenty of money for himself and 
plenty of offices to give to his friends. Popularity could 
have no more solid basis. But, besides, the colonel was 
known to all the workers and to many of the rank and file 
as a mighty good fellow. He was always smiling. He 
never forgot a man’s name, and many an humble voter 
who had never ventured to aspire for himself even to the 
smallest office had been thrilled through all his nerve- 
centres to have the colonel, who had not met him for 
years, come to him at a “grand rally” and clap him on 
the shoulder and say “Hello Bill!” 

The colonel was a plain man, a man of the people; 
neat but modest in his dress; able to speak like an edu- 
cated man with the educated, but quite at ease with dis- 
located syntax and slang when he met alone those helpers 
and subordinates whom he was pleased to call “the boys.” 

It was said of the colonel by all the boys that “he 
always stood by his friends.” This and the fact that 
he was from centre to circumference a Jeffersonian Dem- 
ocrat, were his only apparent virtues. That he always 
stood by his friends was constantly repeated by the voters 


Politics in Turley 29 $ 

who hoped some day to have the privilege of his friend- 
ship. 

And it was true. The man who served him rarely failed 
to obtain substantial reward, while any of his adherents 
who got into office and then got into trouble by misusing 
the public money, always had the protecting arm of the 
colonel thrown around him. Either the colonel made 
good the loss, or he had the jury fixed, or he provided 
the unfortunate man with a place in the consular service. 

But the one friend whom the colonel always stood by 
most faithfully was the colonel himself. 

Billy Grimes had control in the county in which Turley 
was situated; and he would have been permitted to con- 
duct this October local election without interference from 
the colonel, but for the fact that Davis Cook, the plumber, 
actually had the audacity to propose that he, Davis Cook, 
should be placed upon the Democratic ticket as a candi- 
date for School Director in Turley. 

When the colonel heard of this and remembered how 
Davis Cook had spoken at the Presbyterian Church meet- 
ing of him and his contribution and his methods of get- 
ting money, he considered it his duty to come to Turley 
at once and to give orders that Davis Cook should be 
refused a nomination at the hands of a party whose 
master had been thus scandalously assailed. 

To the colonel it seemed bad enough that one of his 
subjects should have the hardihood to reflect unfavor- 
ably upon his financial methods, but it was quite intoler- 
able — it was menacing — that such a man should presume 
to name himself for a public office without consulting the 
colonel or his representatives; without obtaining permis- 
sion from the ruler of the state and as if he were a free 
man in a free community. It was plain enough that the 
whole political machine might go to pieces if the colonel’s 
subjects should acquire the notion that they could run for 
office in obedience to mere erratic individual impulse; 
and the consequences might be serious if the practice 


296 Captain Bluitt 

should become common of referring to the colonel’s 
wealth as plunder and of classifying him among thieves. 
An example must be made of this presumptuous and pre- 
posterous plumber, so that discipline should be main- 
tained. 

“What put it into your head, Davis,” asked Billy 
Grimes of the aspiring plumber, “that you would like to 
go on the School Board?” 

“I put it into my own head,” responded Davis. “You 
don’t own the School Board.” 

“Maybe I do and maybe I don’t; but you’ll be much 
older before you get there.” 

“I’ll get there if the people of this town want me to 
get there.” 

“Don’t you worry about the people,” answered Grimes. 
“I’ll take care of them. They don’t intend to let a man 
like you direct public education, for one thing.” 

“I know too much, do I?” 

“I don’t know how much you know about some things, 
but you don’t know enough to know that you can’t get 
into office by insulting Colonel Bl)^” 

“He owns you, and the School Board and everything 
in sight, does he?” 

“Never mind what he owns, he will down you, or any 
other man that has the insolence to talk about the way 
he made his money.” 

“How did he make it, Billy?” 

“That’s his business. You’ve got no right to meddle 
with it.” 

“If he stole some of it from me, I have,” answered 
Davis Cook. 

“You’d better be careful how you talk, or you’ll be up 
to your arm-pits in a libel-suit the first thing you know. 
The colonel is a better man than any Presbyterian 
plumber that ever flourished a monkey-wrench.” 

“Well, Billy, I’ll give you a fight, anyway,” said Davis. 
“You may win, but you won’t have no walk-over.” 


297 


Politics in Turley 

“Win!’’ exclaimed Grimes, with disgust, as he turned 
to consider some papers that he held in his hands, “why 
Davis we will just wipe you off the face of the earth. 
You won’t know where you are when the colonel gets 
through with you.” 

But, in truth, Mr. Grimes had not quite so much con- 
fidence as he pretended to have. He believed he could 
defeat Davis Cook, but Cook had many friends in both 
parties and he had the great advantage that he was “a 
poor workingman.” Nobody could charge that Davis 
Cook had affiliations with the aristocracy; nobody could 
accuse him of living in opulence, clipping coupons and 
riding about in gorgeous equipages while the sons of 
honest toil, the hope and mainstay of the country, earned 
their bread by arduous labor. Davis Cook’s hands were 
calloused and grimed, his face had on it, usually, the 
smut and smirch of the genuine worker; he lived mod- 
estly, his people were all plain, and, besides, he was known 
to everybody as a good fellow, willing to help anybody 
who was down, always paying good wages, and never 
failing to pay his debts. 

And then, Davis belonged to nine secret and beneficial 
societies, including the Masons and the Odd Fellows and 
the Red Men and the Knights of Pythias. 

In some of these orders he held high places of dignity 
and influence with mysterious names, and on lodge- 
nights he wore strange and wonderful garments, covered 
with awe-inspiring symbols. He was the master of some 
sixteen or eighteen grips and grand hailing signs, and 
he had at his command almost more pass-words than any 
mind not trained in the business could remember. 

It was thought, by well-informed men, that Davis Cook, 
flying about among hydrants and gas-metres and 
plumber’s joints and quarter-turn pipes, carried with him 
a greater accumulation of lodge secrets than any other 
man in the county. 

Billy Grimes therefore knew very well that he had no 


298 Captain Bluitt 

ordinary antagonist to deal with ; and he was not ashamed 
to engage his sovereign lord, the colonel, in a prolonged 
consultation respecting the best method to adopt to beat 
Davis. Of course, as a last resource, he could have the 
plumber counted out at the primary, but Grimes disliked 
to pursue that course if any other were available. 

After careful review of the whole situation and dis- 
cussion of the availability of several men as candidates to 
run against Cook, Grimes made up his mind to put Rufus 
Potter’s name upon the ticket. This decision had warm 
approval from the colonel. 

Rufus seemed to possess many advantages. He was a 
horny-handed workingman, but he ranked much lower 
in the scale than Davis Cook, who, after all, was a master- 
plumber and might reasonably be classed among the em- 
ployers and oppressors of labor. This would attract the 
element in the party who always came to the polls and 
voted. Rufus was endeared to them, also, by the fact 
that his speech was even less refined than that of Davis 
Cook. He used more slang and his dislocations of syntax 
were, as we have seen, little less than appalling to edu- 
cated people. Rufus, very visibly and emphatically, was 
a man of the common-people. He stood near to the 
bottom. To this was added the not unimportant fact that 
Rufus had been a sailor, serving under his country’s flag 
and bearing about with him in Turley the agreeable repu- 
tation of a man who had seen the world and had borne 
himself well in the midst of dreadful dangers. 

Rufus was the right man for the place, beyond a doubt, 
and he was not averse to accepting it. He had never 
had an idea that he should hold office, but as soon as 
Grimes proposed to him to try to take one his mind was 
inflamed by ambition, and it really seemed to him that 
public place was the one thing he had needed to round 
out his life perfectly. 

But the willingness of Rufus was mere indifference in 
comparison with the willingness of his wife. She greeted 


Politics in Turley 299 

with intense enthusiasm the announcement of the project, 
and as her imagination was permitted to play with the 
subject, it led her on step by step until at last she was 
able to picture Rufus, risen from one office to another, 
sitting in the White House as President, engaged in 
drawing a stupendous salary, while she and the eight 
children drove out in the afternoon in a barouche lined 
with pink satin and drawn by four white horses driven by 
a liveried-coachman, who took orders from her as she 
sat clothed in gorgeous raiment and shaded her eyes with 
a real lace parasol. 

It is needless to say that Hannah Potter at once opened 
the campaign with vigor, or that she began to look upon 
Davis Cook, whom she had always liked heretofore, as 
the enemy of organized society and the foe of liberty. 

After an active and lively canvass of the Third Ward 
by Davis Cook in his own behalf, and by the regular 
party-workers in the interests of Rufus Potter, the 
primary-election was held on a Saturday night, late in 
August. 

There were only two hundred and twenty Democrats 
all-told in the Third Ward of Turley, and of these one 
hundred and seventy contributed to the cause of popular 
self-government and to the general uplift of the com- 
munity by remaining at home. One hundred and thirty- 
four of these forgot that the primary election was to be 
held upon that night. Some thought it was the preced- 
ing Saturday night and some thought it was the next 
Saturday night. 

Mr. Grimes had a firm, statesmanlike grasp upon the 
situation and it became apparent to his discerning mind 
early in the day that if he depended upon his own people 
to rally to his standard the cause was lost; and so he 
had arrangements made for voting thirty-three Demo- 
crats from other wards for Rufus and three disreputable 
Whigs and one -rather loose Know Nothing from the 
Third Ward. 


300 


Captain Bluitt 

Davis Cook received sixty votes and Rufus had eighty- 
seven, honest and dishonest. The tellers, Billy Grimes’s 
own men, gave Rufus the certificate declaring that he 
had the regular nomination. 

There was joy that night in the house of Potter. Rufus 
sat about, trying to have his mind grasp the full meaning 
of this wonderful experience that had come to him. The 
effort staggered him. Every now and then he felt his 
head swim, and he put his hand upon the table to steady 
himself. 

But Mrs. Potter’s mental vision swept easily over the 
whole field, and more. 

“Didn’t I tell you, Maud,” she said triumphantly to 
her oldest girl, who was helping to wash the dishes, “that 
your father’s elements of greatness would yet have dis- 
tinguished recognition before he died and that his fellow- 
countrymen would not much longer permit the bold 
mariner who had found his pathway hither and thither 
upon the trackless waste of waters amid a thousand perils, 
to remain in ignominious obscurity? I told you so Rufus. 
Your wife knew you had it in you; and now it is out, and 
you will be clothed with authority and will sit in official 
session to direct how the blessings of education shall be 
showered down upon infant-minds; and some day when 
you have done good and faithful service in the School 
Board the vista will open and when dear Sammy comes 
back from his voyages he will find you in Congress, sit- 
ting there in the halls of legislation and directing the 
destinies of the greatest nation on this earth. I saw it, 
Maud, from the very, very first; and said to myself when 
I married your father that he was born for great things — 
really great things, such as no mere pipe-twisting, solder- 
ing plumber ever could be capable of.” 

Rufus heard her with delight, and as he heard the feel- 
ing began to creep over him that perhaps Destiny was 
indeed leading him towards a higher sphere; but he was 


Politics in Turley 301 

haunted also by some sort of fear that he should not be 
quite certain what to do when he got there. 

Davis Cook, defeated by the Democrats, was promptly 
nominated by the Whigs, who jumped at such a chance 
to win a victory; and Davis began at once his canvass of 
the Ward and of the adjacent township which voted with 
the Ward. 

One of his first visits was paid to Dr. guelch, the most 
influential man in the neighborhood. He found the 
doctor in his office and was invited to enter and to take 
a seat. 

“I come to see you, doctor,” said Davis, “to ask for 
your vote and support for me for school-director.” 

“I see,” said the doctor. “You won’t mind, Davis, if 
I ask you what qualifications you have for the office of 
director of the public schools?” 

“None whatever!” replied Davis, with emphasis. 

“Give me your hand, Davis,” said the doctor, rising. 
“You shall have my vote. I like your frankness. But, 
Davis, why then are you running for the place? Why do 
you desire it?” 

“Simply because Colonel Bly wants to keep me out. 
He says I sha’n’t have the place, and I am determined to 
beat him if I can.” 

“Good!” said the doctor. “The motive is not exactly 
lofty, but I admire pluck and I have no admiration for 
Bly. I will vote for you, but you will not be elected.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because the Democrats are running against you a 
man less capable than you are.” 

“Potter?” 

“Yes. If they had put up a highly-educated man, full 
of power, and preeminently qualified to perform the 
duties, you could have beaten him. But you can’t beat 
Rufus.’’ 

“You think not?” 

“Potter is probably less fit to direct public education 


302 


Captain Bluitt 

than any man in the township. That fact seems to me 
to make his election almost certain.” 

*T know. That’s the way it goes. But I am going to 
try, anyway.” 

“Very well. Do your best and I will stand by you, but 
don’t expect victory.” 

Davis Cook rose, and picked up his hat, intending to 
take his leave. 

“Are you in a hurry, Davis?” asked Dr. Quelch. 

“No.”’ 

“Sit down then. Smoke a pipe. I should like to talk 
with you a little while.” 

Dr. Quelch gave to Cook a pipe and tobacco and filling 
a pipe for himself, the two began to smoke. 

“Davis,” said the doctor, “I want some information. 
You are a mechanic and an honest man; and you know 
you can trust me if you are willing to reveal some of the 
secrets of the brotherhood.” 

“Yes,” said Davis. “I’ll tell you anything I know. 
Tell you in a minute.” 

“Well, Davis, let me state the case. When I built this 
house there were thirteen flues upon the plan, heat-flues 
and smoke-flues. When the house was completed, I 
found that every one of those flues was blocked with 
bricks and mortar. The men who constructed them, 
while constructing them, deliberately dropped brick-bats 
and mortar and other stuff into them and made them 
useless. I have heard scores of other people say that the 
same thing was done with their houses. It is, in short, 
the universal practice. I infer that there is a motive. 
Now, Davis, I want to know what it is. Why does a 
man who takes the trouble to build a hole, simultaneously 
choke it up?” 

“I dunno,” said Davis, thoughtfully, puffing out the 
smoke, “but — ” 

“One moment,” said the doctor. “Before you answer, 
let me say that this same rule appears to operate in all 


Politics in Turley 303 

the trades. If you have your shoes re-soled the shoe- 
maker always leaves pegs inside, doesn’t he?” 

“Always,” said Davis. 

“Although he knows that you cannot wear shoes in 
that condition. When a painter comes here to work, he 
never fails to fill the keyholes in the doors with paint and 
to put upon the window-frames paint which will not dry 
for a year and which makes the sashes immovable. Isn’t 
that so?” 

“Exactly!” said Davis. “I never knowed it to fail.” 

“I had steam-heat put into my house, and of course 
there is a water-gauge in the boiler in the cellar. For 
months I could never perceive any water in the gauge 
and at last I had the thing torn out and I found that 
the workmen, in finishing up the job, had driven a 
wooden plug into the pipe which should feed the gauge. 
Odd, wasn’t it?” 

“Not at all,” said Davis. “That was as good a way 
as any of making trouble.” 

“While the carpenter was putting the shingles on my 
east-gable,” continued the doctor, “I pointed out one par- 
ticular place where the rain would be likely to come in 
from a driving south-easterly storm. I asked him to take 
extra pains to protect that spot and he said he would. 
We took out two buckets of water from beneath that very 
place when the first storm came after the house was built. 
What would you say to that, Davis?” 

“I should say I am surprised you didn’t take out four 
buckets and have three other leaks. But I’ll tell you — ” 

“Just a moment!” said the doctor. “Let me finish.” 

“You fixed up my bath-room for me.” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, I told you that I intended to put expensive paper 
on the ceiling of the room beneath and asked you to make 
the pipes tight. Do you remember?” 

“Perfectly.” 

“And you remember, do you, that the pipes did not 


J04 Captain Bluitt 

leak a drop for more than two weeks; but the moment 
the paper was on the ceiling underneath, and the paper- 
hangers had gone home, that very moment the pipes 
began to leak. Now, Davis, let me ask you, did you 
time it?” 

“I wouldn’t like to say that,” said Davis, knocking the 
ashes from his pipe and refilling it. “Not just that, but 
the pipe was bound to leak sooner or later, and it was 
just a part of the general crookedness of things that it 
waited till the paper was ready.” 

“What is your theory about it, Davis?” asked Dr. 
Quelch. 

“Well,” said Davis Cook, relighting his pipe and lean- 
ing back in his chair. “I’ll tell you how it is, only I 
dunno as you will care to listen, for you have to go away 
back to get the start of the thing.” 

“Back to what?” 

“Well you see, things was built crooked in this world 
on purpose. There ain’t nothing that was arranged to 
go exactly right. You know better than I do, doctor, 
that if we went sailing along through life smooth and 
pleasant, like, drifting with the tide, we’d never amount 
to nothing, now would we?” 

“No.” 

“Very well, then; there’s big troubles and there’s little 
troubles. You may lose your money or your health or 
your relations or you may not; but, anyhow, it’ll rain 
on the day you fix for a picnic, or your train ’ll be late 
the day you particularly want to make a connection with 
another train, or you’ll stub your toe so’s you can’t walk 
just as you arrange for a pedestrian tour, or the rain ’ll 
come on hard when you’ve left home without your um- 
brella (did you ever notice that?), or a frightful bore ’ll 
drop in to see you just when you thought you’d like to 
be alone. It’s always that way, isn’t it?” 

“Yes.” 

“You start out in life believing that you’re going to 


Politics in Turley 305 

have nearly perfect bliss, and lo and behold! there’s some- 
thing every day in the year and nearly every hour in the 
day to worry and annoy you. Now, why is it, doctor? 
Why is it?” 

“What is your theory, Davis?” 

“It’s like this. Here we have, as the books say, evi- 
dence of design. The road of life was made rough, on 
purpose. And why? Doctor, you know well enough! It 
was made so for our good.” 

“I have heard something like that before, I think,” said 
the doctor. 

“Of course! If things was always right, life would be 
too easy. We need discipline — discipline of adversity. It 
makes us strong to fight trouble. Our patience is tried, 
and so we know we have patience and we get more 
patience and so forth. You know all about it.” 

And you think the man who chokes a flue is appointed 
to help the thing along?” 

Certainly. Probably he never quite means to choke 
the flue. Some overpowering outside agency directs him, 
rnakes him careless, throws him off his guard. He plays 
his part in the great drama of life. The man who chokes 
the flue or fixes a pipe to leak is working to make men 
better. You might call him the Angel of Discipline.” 

“You think, then, that the whole matter is super- 
natural?” 

“Well, I don’t know as I quite call it that. It’s just 
the way things is fixed. You try to toss a book on the 
table and it falls on the floor. If you tried to throw it on 
the floor it would have fell on the table. You go through 
your house in the dark and hold your arms straight in 
front of you, and an open door goes between your arms 
and you hit your nose. You could hardly steer straight 
enough in broad daylight to get the door into the space 
between your arms, but you do it sure in the dark. Out 
in the ocean you sail along for days and never see a sight 
of a ship. Let a fog come up and it’s five chances to 


20 


3o 6 Captain Bluitt 

one you’ll have a collision in two hours! No, I don’t 
exactly say supernatural; them’s just the lines on which 
the world is built. There ain’t no intention that things 
’ll go straight.” 

“Then it’s your thought that a hidden power compelled 
you to fix the pipe in my bath-room so that it would 
leak?” 

“Well, I don’t want to shirk no responsibility, or to 
blame anybody else. But the fact is I did my very best. 
I thought it was all tight and snug. But there had to be a 
hitch somewhere for your uplifting towards higher things 
and so I s’pose my attention was called off, by some mys- 
terious influence, from a weak place in the joint, and you 
had the benefit. You learned something more about self- 
control and the hollowness of life when the water came 
through on the ceiling paper. No doubt you are this very 
minute nearer heaven because I inadvertently missed that 
tender place in the joint. It ought to have been added 
to my bill.” 

“Davis,” said the doctor rising and extending his hand, 
“you made a mistake when you said you are not qualified 
for school-director. A mind like your’s would be of in- 
calculable value in that service. I thank you for your 
explanation. It is entirely satisfactory. Your bill would 
not have been satisfactory if it had been larger. The 
catastrophe to which you refer may have supplied an im- 
pulse to the higher life. May be so ; but I shouldn’t have 
been willing to have a cash-valuation put upon the ex- 
perience. Depend upon my vote and my influence in 
your campaign. Davis, I wish we had more men like 
you.” 

Then Davis shook hands with the doctor, went out, 
mounted his light wagon bearing the inscription, “Davis 
Cook, Plumbing & Gas-fitting; Wind-Mills & Pumps, 
Turley,” and drove off to ask Major Gridley for his vote, 
while Dr. Quelch shut his office-door and had a quiet 
laugh to himself. 


CHAPTER XIX 

Kfforts to Save the Country 

T O Dorothea Hamilton, sitting quietly in her home, 
trying to learn how to wait patiently for peace 
which she felt might never more return to her, 
remembrance of the words that 
Walter had spoken long ago about a man whose grief 
made even the sunshine look like blackness to him. How 
far away she seemed then from the possibility that ex- 
perience should teach her what that condition was! But 
now she could understand it. The life that had been 
always happy had now become joyless; and the gloom 
that filled the sorrowing spirit darkened every object 
that she contemplated. She was learning the lesson, so 
hard for the young to learn, that there is no power in 
material things to supply happiness; that true happiness 
is spiritual and is present only when the spiritual nature 
has some measure of satisfaction. 

W^hat the spirit needs first and always is Love, and 
gradually it became clear to Dorothea that the human 
love which had brought to her so large a portion of bliss 
is but a type of, or perhaps an emanation from, that 
Divine Love which fills all the universe and full response 
to which is perfect peace. 

She considered these and kindred mysteries and dwelt 
much upon them in her loneliness, trying to find the way 
to that faith which permits absolute trust in the Unseen 
and in the promise that though grief abide an evening 
guest, yet joy shall come with morning light. 

But there was hunger in her heart for human sympathy, 
and she would have had comfort in the companionship 

(307) 


jo8 Captain Bluitt 

and the counsel of Florabella Burns, had not that com- 
forting and cheering person closed her house soon after 
Walter and Dorothea had met there, and fled away to 
the mountains and the shore for her summer-outing. 
And now that the summer was gone, Florabella, with no 
family cares to demand her presence at home, lingered 
among her friends in the East, and seemed not unlikely 
to remain away from Turley till the leaves were fallen 
and the frost was upon the ground. 

Her absence made more forlorn and desolate the con- 
dition of Dorothea, and it was unfortunate because by 
chance it helped to strengthen Walter’s foolish notion 
that Dorothea cared more to heed her father’s cruel de- 
mand than she did to express her love for the man who 
truly loved her. 

Breaking his resolution to write no more when she 
did not answer the letter he sent to her by Saul Tarsel’s 
hand, he wrote again, after some delay, in care of Mrs. 
Burns, sure that she would put the letter in Dorothea’s 
hands, and sure, also, that if this appeal should bring no 
response, his sweetheart must indeed have become 
faithless. 

But, alas, the letter came to Turley when Mrs. Burns 
had gone. It was sent after her, and when for weeks it 
had followed her about, as she wandered from place to 
place, it reposed at last in the letter-box of a sea-side 
hotel until autumn came. Then it went to the Dead Let- 
ter Ofiice and returned to Walter when letter-writing to 
Dorothea was no longer necessary. 

Not knowing that the letter had gone astray, he felt 
angry with the poor girl who loved him so much, and 
despite the fierce pain in his own breast, he thought that 
she could not suffer, for if she did, she had but to write 
to him and he would speak to her in words which would 
bind them more closely together. 

This was his way; that was the way he would have 
adopted to keep the two souls in communion; and if it 


309 


Saving the Country 

had been adopted, then, in his hot impatience, no doubt 
he would have insisted that Dorothea should set aside 
the authority of her father, forsake her home and come 
with him. 

But this was not the way that Fate had prepared for 
him and her. There was to be another and very strange 
way, not without painfulness, by which she was to be 
given to him; and it was a part of his discipline — very 
necessary discipline, too — that he should learn to wait. 

It was easier for him than for her. The man has his 
daily portion of toil to divert his mind from his troubles; 
he meets many people; he moves amid changeful scenes; 
he has little time or chance for introspection and brood- 
ing; and in Walter’s case there was even cheerful com- 
pany for him, because Marietta Binns still flitted about 
his boarding-house, and Marietta, besides having a dis- 
position which was always sunshiny and often inclined to 
almost indecorous hilarity, had a positive ravenous 
hunger for theatrical and operatic performances of pre- 
cisely the kind that Walter was driven to by the require- 
ments of his profession. 

The Turley-folk who came to town and sometimes saw 
him at such places in such joyous company, did not fail 
to chatter about it when they went home; and some tid- 
ings of the matter could not but drift into the chamber 
where the woman who loved him sat sorrowing. 

She had time to think, time to remember, time to con- 
jecture what the future might bring, time to weep and to 
dream and to indulge herself in passionate deep longings. 
There were no diversions for her. She had a little round 
of duties to perform, in her home and at the church; but 
the company that came to the house entertained her not 
at all; and while she pitied poor young Frobisher, who 
fluttered about her and made up his mind to breathe his 
passion to her, only to unmake it a score of times, she 
was weary of him. 

And then, it was plain enough to her and to her dear 


310 Captain Bluitt 

mother that a change of some kind had cotne upon her 
father. They did not speak to each other much about it, 
and to him they said nothing; but clearly he was not quite 
what he used to be in his affectionateness and in his ready 
interest in domestic matters. 

In truth, Hamilton had found his first theft of money 
from the bank so easy, and yet the burden of his guilt 
so hard, that he determined to take some more and with 
it to make a few bold ventures in the city stock-market. 
Thus he might recover what he had given to McGann, 
make enough perhaps to pay the second instalment, and 
possibly have something over for his own pocket. 

Unfortunately for him, his first speculative movement 
netted him nearly fifteen hundred dollars. Excited by 
this good fortune, he looked for a chance to go in more 
heavily. He found it and lost all he had made and all 
he had stolen. Then he took more money, invested and 
lost again. It is not worth while to repeat that old 
familiar story. When he gave up the game he had thrown 
away six thousand dollars of the bank’s money in specu- 
lation and had upon him an obligation to steal five thou- 
sand more and to cover the whole of the embezzlement by 
falsifying the books. 

He was not strong enough completely to conceal his 
despondency from his family or to keep his mind from 
wandering, in their presence, to the bank, the stock-ex- 
change and the workshop where the Motor stood. His 
disappointments and the feverishness of his mind were 
manifested also in irritation which had rarely appeared 
in his manner when he was an innocent man; and this 
irritability had been increased by the demands made upon 
him by McGann for the second payment, and by the fail- 
ure of the Motor to fulfil some of the expectations en- 
tertained by the inventor. 

McGann had spent the summer trying to find a method 
of carrying the force over longer distances from the gen- 
erator to the Motor. He had zig-zagged half a mile of 


Saving the Country ju 

wire upon the ceiling of his shop, and sent the current 
through it, as he thought; but without any effect upon 
the Motor. Experiments showed that he could not 
transmit the power economically for more than one hun- 
dred yards, and if he could not, the Motor would be of 
little use. The steam-engine alone would do the work 
and do it better. 

But the judge was sanguine, and he felt sure that 
when he had a few more thousand dollars in hand victory 
would be reached and rich returns would begin to flow 
in. The dollars were to come from Hamilton and from 
the bank; and Hamilton had not got even the 
patents to show for his first investment; for the Office at 
Washington was indisposed to hurry with a matter so 
novel and so important. 

While John Hamilton engaged in perilous financiering 
and his daughter looked out on the sad world through 
her tears, and Florabella lingered in far distant regions, 
and the Motor refused to do its duty, the political cam- 
paign gained in fervor as opposing factions strove for 
mastery. 

Late in September a Grand Democratic Rally was to 
be held in Turley, with the Turley Brass Band at the head 
of a procession illuminated by torches and transparencies; 
and there was to be an out-door meeting whereat several 
of the most eminent politicians in the state were to ex- 
plain to the followers of Jefferson exactly how the country 
could be saved. It was thought probable that Colonel 
Bly himself would deign to be present and to say a few 
words of cheer to his faithful subjects; but it was an- 
nounced as an assured fact that “Our Distinguished 
Fellow Townsman, Mr. Rufus Potter, will also have the 
honor of addressing the Meeting.” 

When Rufus saw this announcement in letters of blaz- 
ing red upon the posters at the street-corners he had 
mingled feelings of exaltation and trepidation. It was 
much to be designated in letters of that area and that hue 


312 Captain Bluitt 

as a distinguished citizen and to find himself ranked 
among the orators who were to make the welkin ring with 
patriotic speeches; but when Rufus thought of himself 
as in the act of speaking to an audience of Turleyites his 
heart sank within him and there was in his knees a ten- 
dency to smite together which he had rarely noticed 
before. 

He would have declined peremptorily the request of 
Billy Grimes and the Committee for a few eloquent re- 
marks, had not Mrs. Potter strenuously insisted that it 
would be little short of madness for him to lose so good 
an opportunity to permit his genius to shine upon a com- 
munity hitherto far too little appreciative of its quality; 
and that the radiance might have assured brilliancy, she 
undertook for herself the very congenial task of pre- 
paring her husband’s speech for him. 

The work of composition would have been easier for 
her if she could have been permitted to frame it upon her 
lips, for fluency was one of her gifts; but while she 
labored strenuously to trace the oration upon paper, she 
was consoled continually with the bright vision offered 
to her mind by Hope, which represented her far in the 
future in the act of preparing for Rufus Potter, the 
President-elect of the United States, an inaugural address 
which she and the children should listen to with rapture 
and then drive home to the White House with the satin- 
lined barouche and the four white horses. 

Regarded as really her first effort at preparation of a 
political stump-speech, Mrs. Potter’s little piece was not 
so very bad; and in fact when she had read it to a few of 
her woman friends, infusing into her manner an intensity 
of enthusiasm of which Rufus probably was not capable, 
they made no pretense of concealing their admiration 
for the speech and for the writer. Mrs. Julia McGlory 
even went so far as to say that Henry Clay himself could 
not have done better. 

The speech was as follows : 


Saving the Country 

^'Fellow-citizens, your candidate is more used to being 
rocked in the cradle of the mighty deep where the fierce 
tempest rages than in standing upon the platform, but 
when my country summons me to help her in the hour 
of deadly peril I should deserve a traitor’s doom if I did 
not heed her call! I stand before you as the friend of 
education and the poor workingman 1 I point with pride 
to my humble birth in a rude cabin in the primeval forest 
amidst the glorious mountains of Tennessee, and to these 
horny hands grimed with painful toil and the sweat of 
my brow from the earliest years of innocent childhood. 
Who so fit to guide the education of the young as the 
father of eight children, three boys and five girls, who in 
many a battle with the tempest and the storm on the 
bosom of the ocean seen foreign lands with his own eyes 
and knows geography to be true and by gazing at the 
stars can steer a mighty ship safely o’er the billows? 

“Will you vote against him for a man who sends his 
only child to a pay-school and becomes the vassal of the 
rich and the oppressor, or will you rally to the working- 
man’s candidate who pledges himself to have the schools 
teach Navigation and Roman Numerals and American 
Grammar and who never seen the starry banner of the 
free waving upon a foreign shore without feeling his 
heart beat for his native land and his bosom heave with 
emotion as he thinks of General Washington and his im- 
mortal words, 'Give me liberty or give me death’ and 
vote on Tuesday for Rufus Potter for School Director, 
the man who always done his duty!” 

It now developed upon Rufus to commit the speech 
to memory and to have it so firmly lodged in his mind 
that he would remember every word of it amid the ex- 
citement and fear of his first appearance upon the plat- 
form. 

Rufus employed diligence in trying to perform the task. 
Upon his wife’s recommendation he learned two lines at 
a time, and when he had thoroughly mastered them she 


314 Captain Bluitt 

would have him repeat them to her. His greatest diffi- 
culty was that, when he had the first two lines actually 
imbedded in his intellectual apparatus so that it seemed 
as if he would remember them far into eternity, he found 
that as he passed on to and learned the next two lines, 
the first two had vanished as completely as if they had 
been written in sand and washed out by the rising tide. 

He went through the entire oration two lines at a time, 
and when the concluding lines had been acquired they 
alone, a mere pitiful fragment of the resounding whole, 
were held in memory’s grasp. 

The aspiring statesman tried hard. Captain Bluitt 
found him sitting about the stable; in the dearborn, or 
the haymow, or behind the smoke-house, muttering the 
words of the speech; he could be heard in the cellar as 
he poked the furnace or removed the ashes making refer- 
ences in subdued tones to General Washington and the 
glorious mountains of Tennessee or to his preference for 
death if liberty should be suddenly snatched away. 

He gave up his solar observations from the centre of 
the asparagus bed; he went about the streets on errands 
with an air of abstraction, like a man who has something 
lying heavy on his mind; he sat up late at night and 
missed meals and forgot to black Captain Bluitt’s boots, 
and began to have a great yearning look in his eyes as 
if his soul were reaching out towards ineffable things; 
and still, after a week of struggle and wrestle and suffer- 
ing, Hannah found that there were only six lines that he 
could really count on, and they were so much confused 
as to be likely to convey to the hearer the impression 
that General Washington was born in the glorious moun- 
tains of Tennessee. 

Only one week remained before the meeting, and Mrs. 
Potter perceived that something must really be done un- 
less the very first step of the young statesman towards the 
White House should have disastrous consequences. 

She rose to the requirements of the occasion. She 


Saving the Country 

learned the speech herself, and sacrificing her household 
duties as much as possible, she followed Rufus about, in 
the stable, in the garden, and while he was in the house, 
repeating the words and having him say them after her, 
until she herself grew weary of them. She could have 
said them backwards. 

Neighbors who came home late at night and passed 
the Potter house, went to rest convinced that there was 
a breach of the amicable relations that had always existed 
between this loving pair, because they seemed to be en- 
gaged in prolonged and sometimes violent altercation. 
But the voices were those of Rufus and of the wife who 
had soaring ambition for the husband and who, far into 
the hours of darkness and in the repose of the cham- 
ber, compelled Rufus to follow her in repeating that 
speech which should start him on the road to glory. 

When the great day came, victory crowned the efforts 
of the assiduous wife, and she felt sure that Rufus had 
firm hold of his speech at last. He could eat no supper 
that evening, and while she and the children partook of 
the meal, Rufus stood back by the stove and repeated the 
oration over and over, never missing more than two or 
three words. 

But he was not happy. Indeed, as he contemplated the 
prospect it seemed to him hardly less than appalling. He 
began to feel that even the joy of sitting upon the School 
Board and helping infant feet to climb that hard old hill 
of Learning was purchased dearly at the cost of such 
suffering as that which he should endure before bed-time. 
Even when his wife tried to fix his mental gaze upon the 
White House and to show him that that home of power 
and splendor lay directly before him, it seemed somehow 
to him that the cabin in the rear of Captain Bluitf s garden 
really had some distinct advantages of its own. 

Rufus went to the meeting as a prisoner goes to the 
scaffold. His wife went with him, and four of the older 
children, and she cheered his tremulous soul with the 


3i 6 Captain Bluitt 

assurance that she would stand directly beneath the 
speakers’ place upon the platform and hold the paper in 
her hand ready to prompt him if memory should forsake 
him. 

The Grand Rally of the Jeffersonian Democracy of 
Turley was held on an open lot just east of the market- 
house. A platform of rough boards had been built in the 
centre of the lot, and it was surrounded by a railing and 
filled with seats for the members of the local committee 
and for other distinguished citizens who should lend the 
influence of their presence to this great uprising in behalf 
of the salvation of the country and the promulgation of 
sound political principles. 

Around the sides of the platform were many flaring 
torches which blazed and flickered and smoked, and when 
Rufus came near he found a crowd which opened a way 
for him and looked at him with curiosity and high expec- 
tation. Mounting the platform, he found the committee 
standing and talking to several strangers, and when he 
had been welcomed, he was introduced as “Mr. Potter, 
one of our candidates,” to General Marcus Hook of 
Clarion, to Captain E. L. P. Magruder of Cayuga, and 
to the Honorable Arcturus M. Walters, member of Con- 
gress from the Sixteenth District. 

These were the gifted orators who were to thrill the 
Jeffersonian Democracy of Turley with eloquence, and 
be in turn held spell-bound by the oratory of Rufus. It 
was the first time our candidate had found himself in such 
lofty company, and while he enjoyed the honor, he had 
most painful misgivings as to the consequences of the im- 
pending proceedings. 

In a few moments the brazen harmonies of the Turley 
Brass Band were heard in the distance and soon after- 
ward the boom of the drum and the clangor of the horns 
suddenly rose into fortissimo, as the head of the proces- 
sion swung around the corner and began to approach the 
platform. 


Saving the Country jiy 

The occupants of the structure took their seats, and 
while the Band filed off to the side and continued to play 
in the most clamorous and resolute manner, the proces- 
sion broke ranks with resounding cheers for Colonel Bly 
and the whole ticket, and the members mingled with the 
crowd that stretched far in front of the platform, and far 
outward to the right and to the left. 

When the concluding cadences of the music were heard 
and the conscientious bass-drummer had thumped a final 
thump, Billy Grimes arose and proposed to organize the 
meeting by nominating a chairman and enough vice- 
presidents and secretaries to have made a political party 
of considerable dimensions if they had consented to go 
off by themselves and to arrange for a movement of that 
kind. 

These officers having been elected by a unanimous vote 
and three more really uproarious cheers having been 
given for the whole ticket, the chairman read the reso- 
lutions, which pointed plainly to the fact that the manifest 
purpose of the existence of the Whig party was to rend 
asunder and trample under foot the sacred heritage of 
the fathers, to reduce the poor workingman to a condi- 
tion of perpetual poverty and serfdom and to try to 
elevate to a position of equality with the Caucasian race 
the Americans of African descent who had been con- 
demned to a condition of servitude by the curse pro- 
nounced upon their ancestor. 

This having been made clear to every Democrat 
present, the resolutions went on to explain that there was 
but one Hope for the country and for the preservation of 
the institutions for which our patriotic sires had suffered 
and bled, and but one Hope for the workingman so long 
ground beneath the merciless heel of the rich oppressor, 
and that was in the triumph of the Democratic party. 
The crisis was here! The time for action had come! 
The overthrow of Democratic principles at this important 
juncture simply meant that the Grand Old Republic, 


3i 8 Captain Bluitt 

glorious in her history and freighted with hallowed mem- 
ories and with high promise for the human race, would 
go reeling downward to everlasting ruin. 

There was no dissenting voice when the meeting was 
asked to declare if these things were so. All Turley heard 
the shout of affirmation and the three more cheers for the 
whole ticket. 

The Honorable Arcturus M. Walters of the Sixteenth 
District was then introduced by the chairman and lean- 
ing far over the railing, with one hand beneath the tails 
of his coat and his other hand swinging in a vigorous 
manner through space, he demonstrated, amid enthus- 
iastic cheering, that this was the hour when the patriots 
of the Democratic party must rise in their might and 
strike the shackles from the arms of the down-trodden 
laborer if there was any expectation that this feat would 
ever be performed. 

The Honorable Arcturus M. Walters concluded his 
oration with dramatic recitation of a passage from The 
Curse of Kehama and of a quotation of an impressive 
nature from The Veiled Prophet of Khorassin. Mr. 
Walters had employed these two poetic fragments, ac- 
cording to the estimates of his friends, at more than two 
hundred and thirty-seven political meetings, and always 
with powerful effect upon his hearers. 

As the Honorable member from the Sixteenth District 
concluded his oration and resumed his seat, wiping the 
perspiration from his brow. General Marcus Hook of 
Clarion came forward, and began his speech, as he always 
did, with two or three amusing anecdotes which were re- 
ceived with roars of laughter. 

It was the turn of Rufus next. While the General 
talked and the audience laughed, Rufus sat upon the front 
bench filled with horror that almost paralyzed him. He 
hardly dared look at the crowd in front of him; but when 
he did venture to turn his eyes in that direction he saw 
Mrs. Potter, close by, smiling and joyful and waving at 


Saving the Country 319 

him as a cheering sign that he might feel confident the 
paper on which his speech was written. He began to 
search his memory and his blood froze in his veins as he 
discovered that he could not recall a word of it! Then, 
suddenly, he saw far out in the crowd the face of Captain 
Bluitt, who was a Whig, but who was curious to hear 
Rufus speak. Rufus knew that he should not be able to 
stand up, much less to repeat the speech that had been 
written for him. 

In an incredibly short time General Marcus Hook 
completed his oration and as the applause died away, the 
Band began to play the Star Spangled Banner. The hour 
had come for Rufus! He felt that he would rather die 
than to undertake the task that lay before him. He had 
an impulse to vault over the railing at his side and to 
fly. The crowd was too dense for that. He was almost 
distracted. But there was a loose board beneath his feet. 
It moved and left an opening when he kicked it. He 
pushed the board further over, and as the band blew and 
pounded its way into the last bar but four of the glorious 
old anthem, Rufus let his feet dangle for a moment in the 
gap beneath him; then he slid from his seat, through the 
crevice to the ground, crawled out upon all-fours to the 
back of the platform, and ran home and hid himself in 
the haymow. 

When the chairman rose he began to say, “We will 
now have the pleasure of hearing from our esteemed 
fellow townsman. Mister — ’’ 

But Billy Grimes came forward, touched his elbow and 
whispered to him, and the chairman began again: 

“Our esteemed fellow townsman, Mr. Rufus Potter, I 
regret to say, has been taken suddenly ill and I now have 
the pleasure of introducing to you. Captain E. L. P. 
Magruder of Cayuga.” 

Mrs. Potter walked sadly home with the four children, 
and not finding Rufus in the house, her instinct directed 


320 


Captain Bluitt 

her to the stable. She stood at the door and called her 
husband. 

A response in a faint voice came from the haymow, 
and Rufus descended the ladder. 

Mrs. Potter was able to persuade herself that he was 
really ill, and as they walked over to the house she put 
her arm about him and said: 

“Never mind, Rufus; you will have another chance yet; 
and you’ll be elected anyhow.” 

But, as Mrs. Potter lay awake that night and reflected 
upon the exciting adventures of the evening, it seemed to 
her that the movement of the family toward the White 
House was likely to be not so rapid as she had anticipated. 

The next week the Whigs held their meeting; and the 
posters announced that among the speakers would be 
“our popular fellow-townsman, Mr. Davis Cook, and Mr. 
Walter Drury, the distinguished journalist.” 

Walter had been asked to speak in Turley, and he had 
consented for several reasons. He should like to have 
his uncle and aunt hear him; he should be glad to convey 
to John Hamilton’s mind a larger notion of the editor’s 
importance, and chance might favor him to have once 
more a vision of Dorothea. 

The meeting was held in the so-called Academy of 
Music, which had its auditorium upon the floor that was 
level with the street. It was brilliantly lighted for the 
occasion and when the Turley Band, after parading about 
the town, marched into the building emitting music of 
the most exhilarating character, the crowd surged in after 
it and soon filled all the chairs. 

A chairman was elected, and scores of vice-presidents 
and secretaries were elected and then the meeting adopted 
resolutions representing that the Democratic party had no 
other purpose for existence than the overthrow of Amer- 
ican institutions. 

Then the chairman read a short address which was 
crammed full of animating observations, and when he 


Saving the Country 321 

folded up his paper amid tumultuous cheering, he intro- 
duced Davis Cook to the audience. 

“You all know very well, fellow citizens,’’ said Davis, 

that I don t pretend to be no orator, but I never seen 
the time yet when I was afraid to look Turley people in 
the face and tell them what I think about things, though 
maybe what I happen to think mayn’t be of so very much 
account anyhow.” 

“I am a candidate, as you all know, for School Director, 
and I want to be elected. I’m not a going to claim that 
I have any particular gift for directing schools, but I am 
a going to claim that I’m about as good at that business 
as the men that are doing it now. If the lightning would 
strike every man in the School Board who ain’t fit to 
manage public education, the Board could cast a unan- 
imous vote in the Hereafter before the storm blew over. 
I needn’t tell you, who know every mother’s son of ’em, 
that there isn’t enough real education in the School 
Board, taking them as they run, to fit out the smallest 
infant class in the colored people’s Ebenezer Sunday 
School; and while I don’t know much, I always knowed 
enough to know how much I don’t know and to pick out 
people to do what I can’t do.” 

“I have nothing agin Rufus Potter, the Democratic 
candidate for the office. So far as I can understand he’s 
a kind father and a good husband and a fairish sort of 
a man at rubbing down a horse and shoveling dirt; but 
if Rufus Potter is qualified to direct public education, 
then Davis Cook is qualified to work a plumber’s joint 
on the Milky Way and to fix the attraction of gravitation 
so’s it will pull upwards.” 

“I have always been a Democrat, and you are Whigs, 
but the way I look at it, national politics has nothing 
more to do with the business of our School Board than 
hard-soldering has to do with horse-racing; and if you 
elect me. I’ll be neither a Whig nor a Democrat in that 
body, but I’ll see to it that the school-tax ain’t increased 


2i 


322 


Captain Bluitt 

without good reason and that the children will have the 
right kind of learning stowed in their little brain-pans.” 

“The reason why I’m not running on the Democratic 
ticket is, that the man who owns that party and bosses 
the whole state wouldn’t let his serfs here in Turley put 
me on. He got mad at me because I opposed letting 
some of his money come into my church on the ground 
that it was probably stolen and that a church ought to 
have clean money or stay poor. That’s what I say now, 
and I don’t care who hears me. I never seen Colonel 
Bly steal no money, but it seems pretty near certain that 
he began life by skinning the Shiawassee Injins, and if 
he ever earned a dollar since by honest work he done it 
on the sly, after dark, for nobody ever seen him do it.” 

“I’m no better than my neighbors. I’m just a plain 
plumber who works hard at a rough business ; but there’s 
written receipts somewheres for all the money I ever got 
since I earned journeyman’s wages; and if any man 
knows of a dollar that I have that I didn’t get honest, all 
he has to do is to produce the proof and I’ll pay a hundred 
dollars back for every dirty dollar he can find in my 
hands.” 

“I’m a master-plumber, and I’m proud of it. I don’t 
say that Colonel Bly is a master-thief for I can’t prove 
it; but if the evidence could be had, and I’d never seen it. 
I’d bet my horse and wagon against eight cents that when 
the documents were produced they would put the colonel 
in the penitentiary unless the statute of limitation would 
serve to keep him out.” 

“That man rules this state, without your leave or mine; 
but as far as I’ve got any say in the matter, he can’t rule 
me. I am the sole owner of Davis Cook. There was 
big talk over at the Democratic meeting the other night 
about the glorious institutions established by our revolu- 
tionary forefathers. What they gave us was liberty and 
the right to govern ourselves. What we’ve got, is boss- 
government that robs you while it rules you. It would 


J2J 


Saving the Country 

make Thomas Jefferson giddy if he could come back here 
and study Colonel Bly and Billy Grimes. Our right is to 
manage our own government, and if we don’t want to 
take the trouble to do that, I’m in favor of hunting about 
and having a decent despot who will take care of us right 
and not pick out pockets while he shouts for the Declara- 
tion of Independence.” 

“That’s about all I have got to say. Give me a fair 
chance. I know you can find blow-holes in my grammar 
and that my spelling is often weak at the joints. You’d 
knock me clean out if you was to push me hard at his- 
tory, and what I don’t know about higher mathematics 
would reach from here to Texas and half way back again; 
but you put me in that School Board, and I’ll serve you 
honest, in spite of all the bosses in the state; see if I don’t.” 

The applause that followed Davis Cook as he turned 
to resume his seat showed that he had made a strong 
impression upon the audience. He rose and bowed again 
and again as round after round of cheers were given 
for him. 

Then Walter Drury rose to speak, and Captain Bluitt 
and Aunt Puella, sitting near to the front of the room, 
looked at him with feelings of rapturous admiration. " 

But he had an unseen listener for whom he would have 
cared more, had he known that she heard him. 

When Dorothea knew that he would come to Turley to 
speak at the Whig meeting her desire to see him and to 
hear him was almost overpowering. She hardly knew 
what to do; but late in the afternoon she put on her 
bonnet and walked down by the river-bank, as she often 
did, in the hope that he would reach town before dark 
and would perhaps seek her there. 

She lingered long upon the bank, until the twilight 
faded into night, and he did not come. Florabella’s house 
was closed, but she looked eagerly at the Bluitt house. 
Perhaps he might be there and would see her and would 
come forth to greet her. No, there was no indication of 


324 Captain Bluitt 

his presence. In truth he was on the railway-train, speed- 
ing toward Turley while she walked to and fro by the 
river with eager longings in her heart. 

And so she went home to weep once more in the room 
where so often before she had shed bitter tears. What 
should she do to have one glimpse of the man she loved? 
She could not go alone to the meeting; she could not ask 
father or mother to go with her; she could not ask to 
be permitted to accompany Captain Bluitt and Miss 
Puella. 

But when the hour for the meeting came, she went 
softly down the stairs and out upon the porch at the side 
of the house. Putting a shawl upon her head and 
shoulders, she walked out through the garden-gate to 
the street and down to the comer of the next street where 
the Academy of Music was. On the further side of the 
building was an open lot, and a fence ran the whole 
length of the structure two or three feet from the wall. 

Creeping in between the fence and the wall, in the dark- 
ness, she was safe from curious eyes, safe from molesta- 
tion. The windows were just above her head. She could 
not look into the room, but it was a warm night and the 
sashes were lifted and she could hear every sound that 
was produced. 

She listened patiently to the music, to the chairman's 
speech, to all the preliminary proceedings and to the ob- 
servations made by Davis Cook. 

How her heart beat and the tears came into her eyes 
when she heard Walter’s name announced by the chair- 
man! And with what joy she listened to the first vibra^ 
tions of his voice! As they fell upon her ear there came 
upon her spirit once more that strange feeling she had 
known when she saw him long ago, that in some myster- 
ious and wonderful way he belonged to her. 

She had never before been present when he spoke in 
public and she wondered at the ease with which he 
rounded out each eloquent sentence and she exulted when 


Saving the Country 32 j 

the audience interrupted him again and again with cheers 
and clapping of hands. It was marvelous, she thought, 
how he had mastered the speaker’s art. “A born orator,” 
she said to herself. “So much like he is when he speaks 
to me, and yet so much more splendid and glorious.” 
She felt proud of him. “My Walter!” she murmured as 
she crouched there in the black night and listened with 
rapture to the music of that voice which had always had 
rich music for her in its tones. 

Drury spoke long, but she waited and thought the 
time much too short; and then, when he ended the speech, 
she walked out to the street with her shawl half-drawn 
across her face and went to her home and to her room, 
filled with delight and yet with a great pain at her heart 
as she thought of the happiness she might have had if he 
could have seen her and clasped her and kissed her. It 
was terrible indeed that he should be so near to her and 
yet that their separation should be as absolute and insur- 
mountable as if the great ocean divided them. 

There was no hope for her that night. The cup of 
sweetness was near to her lips, but she could not drink. 
But, indeed, if she could have known, if her spiritual sense 
could have been opened to perceive, while she mourned 
and mourned until sleep brought sweet oblivion, Walter 
Drury, bidding good night to uncle and aunt, who could 
hardly frame words to express their pride in him, walked 
slowly over to the house of John Hamilton and into the 
garden and stood there looking with hungry eyes at the 
porch where he had sat with her when the flowers were 
blooming, at the window of her room all dark and silent, 
at the garden-paths where they had gone together, and 
at the door through which he had wheeled her in her 
rolling-chair. 

“One word of praise from her,” he said, as he sauntered 
out upon the street again, “would be worth all the ap- 
plause I had to-night. Emptiness! Yes, mere emptiness 
it is! Life is empty and all is empty without her! O, my 


j 26 Captain Bluitt 

love V* he said almost with a sob, as he walked toward the 
river and his uncle’s house, ‘Voe to me if you do not 
come to me! My love, my life, I would rather die than 
you should not be minel” 


CHAPTER XX 

Divination and Politics 

C APTAIN BLUITT sat by his library table beneath 
the lamp, reading an English translation of 
Cicero, and upon the other side of the table 
Miss Puella was busy stitching a garment for 
the Dorcas society at the church. 

For a time neither spoke, but, while the Ear and the 
Penates upon the mantel-piece scowled strangely upon 
them, the captain was completely absorbed in his book 
and his sister thought of the church and of Walter and 
of Dorothea and of many other things. 

After a while Captain Bluitt turned the open book 
over upon the table, and rubbing his eyes, weary with 
much reading, said: 

“Puella, do you believe in haruspication?’' 

“What’s that? I don’t understand you.” 
“Haruspication; I say do you believe in it?” 

“I don’t know. It’s not in our Catechism. The Epis- 
copalians believe in it, I think.” 

“You don’t understand me,” said the captain. “Do 
you know what haruspication is?” 

“Not exactly; something about bishops, isn’t it? or 
total depravity or something?” 

“No. Haruspication is the science of foretelling events 
by observing the interior parts of animals, chiefly 
chickens. It is not much in use in our times.” 

“I should think not! Why, brother, how perfectly 
absurd!” 

“It strikes you that way, does it?” 

“Of course.” 


(327) 


^28 Captain Bluitt 

^‘Well, maybe you’re right. I guess you are; but I am 
trying to keep my mind open about it.” 

“But brother, it is simply impossible for you to believe 
that we can predict future occurrences by examining the 
organs of chickens ! I never heard such nonsense.” 

“It does seem unlikely, doesn’t it? Why should the 
internal arrangements of a pullet have any bearing, for 
example — well, let us say on the late war with Mexico? 
It’s hardly reasonable, is it, and yet some of the wisest 
of the ancient Romans believed in it.” 

“How could they know about the war with Mexico?” 

“You misunderstand me. I mean they believed that by 
inspecting a fowl in that manner they could tell how any 
war would turn out — who would win.” 

“No Roman with good sense ever thought so.” 

“Yes, here’s Cicero,” said the captain, taking up the 
book, “he says that ^nearly every one has recourse to 
the organs of animals,’ and that ‘our own countrymen 
have never undertaken any martial enterprise without 
inspection of organs.’ ” 

“Did Cicero actually believe such stuff?” 

“I haven’t read far enough to find out; but I have a 
notion he did. Let me read you what the man says: 
The presages which we deduce from examination of a 
victim’s organs, are founded upon the accurate observa- 
tions of many centuries.’ Then he goes on to say that 
Flaminius, in the second Punic war, was about to move 
his army against liannibal, when the augur insisted that 
he should first consult the consecrated chickens. Think 
of that Puella! Consecrated chickens!” 

“Did he do it?” 

“I think so.” 

“Well, who beat?” 

“Cicero doesn’t say. I’ll have to look that up. But 
notice that everybody seems to have practiced haruspica- 
tion, and those were the smartest people the world ever 
saw — the very smartest.” 


Divination and Politics ^9 

don’t care how smart they were, I’ll never believe 
such foolishness.” 

He mentions also,” said Captain Bluitt, turning over 
the leaves of the book, “that a little before Caesar’s death, 
the first time Caesar sat on his golden throne, the ox that 
was sacrificed had no heart; and the second ox, sacrificed 
the next day, had no liver.” 

“What did that mean?” 

“Why, that Caesar was going to be killed.” 

How ridiculous! An ox couldn’t possibly live with- 
out a heart.” 

“Cicero takes pains to remark that Ve must suppose 
the organ to have been annihilated by Providence at the 
very instant the sacrifice was offered.’ That’s the way 
he accounts for it.” 

“That doesn’t account for it to me.” 

“But the heart seems to have been considered not so 
important as some of the other organs. In the case of 
consecrated chickens the condition of the gall was re- 
garded as the most significant of the indications.” 

“What did it signify?” 

“Well Cicero isn’t perfectly clear; but he says every- 
body knew there was trouble ahead — or words to that 
effect, if you found a cleft in the chicken’s liver. Seems 
queer, doesn’t it?” 

“It would be queer if it were true.” 

“And then, it appears that there were other ways of 
foretelling events. One was by watching the flight of 
birds and another was by observing thunder-storms. I 
wish I knew how they worked the system.” 

“Why it didn’t work; that was the way.” 

“ Well, then, how they thought it worked. For instance, 
what kind of a thing did a thunder-storm indicate when 
it came up in a particular kind of way. All thunder- 
storms seem about alike to me.” 

“And to me.” 

“Suppose, for instance, a cleft in a chicken-liver, on a 


J30 Captain Bluitt 

given day in Rome, meant that there would be a fire or a 
flood the next day; what I want to know is, what would 
a cleft in a chicken-liver in Turley mean to-morrow? I 
wish Cicero had given the rules/' 

''Just for curiosity’s sake?” 

"Yes, of course.” 

Then Captain Bluitt was silent for a few moments, and 
looked at the Lar on the mantel-piece, while Miss Bluitt 
sewed. At last he said: 

"Puella, you know I’m going away on Saturday to 
attend that law-suit in New York, and I won’t be home 
for a month or more.” 

"Well?” 

"And the election comes off on Tuesday, just after I 
am gone.” 

"Yes.” 

"I should like mighty well to know how that election 
is going.” 

"I will write to you at once.” 

"Yes, of course; but I mean beforehand; about Rufus. 
It can’t be possible that the people will put that block- 
head into the School Board.” 

"No.” 

"I wish I knew. Not that it makes any great differ- 
ence; but I am curious about it.” 

Then Captain Bluitt fell silent again. He glanced at 
his sister and finally he said: 

"Puella.” 

"Well?” 

"I am going to propose something a little bit unusual. 
Maybe you’ll say it’s ridiculous. But do you know I have 
half a notion to try how that chicken-liver business will 
work with Rufus? Now don’t make fun of it!” 

"You’re not actually going to be so foolish?” 

"O well! I admit that it’s foolish. I have no faith in 
it, of course. But the Romans were not foolish people. 
They must have had some ground for believing in it. 


Divination and Politics 331 

Cicero, you know, said that it was founded on accurate 
observations made for centuries. I’d like to see if there 
is anything in it, one way or the other.” 

“It is a great pity to waste a good chicken on such 
nonsense.” 

“You needn’t waste it. We will have it for dinner. 
And Puella?” 

“Well?” 

“Mind you don’t say anything to Dr. Frobisher about 
it, or he’ll hunt up a text and write a sermon against that 
sort of thing.” 

“It is heathenish.” 

“Very well! But it’s harmless. No man can do per- 
manent injury to any sound church organization by in- 
specting the interior of a chicken. I’m going to try it 
to-morrow anyhow.” 

In the morning Captain Bluitt, resolute to make a 
venture into the unknown regions of haruspication, 
directed Rufus to catch a hen and decapitate it. 

These operations having been successfully performed. 
Captain Bluitt took the fowl and entered the wood-shed, 
carefully closing and bolting the door. 

He remained within for a considerable length of time, 
and then, unbolting the door, he reappeared and going 
into the house washed his hands. 

As he entered the library where Miss Bluitt sat, sew- 
ing, he seemed flushed and warm; but he tried to look 
cheerful. 

“How did it turn out?” asked his sister. 

“O, well! I’m not much used to that kind of thing, 
and of course I don’t really know what the rules are.” 

“Was there anything peculiar about the chicken?” 

“Not so very peculiar. The gizzard seemed to me 
to be just a little unusual; but I’m not perfectly certain.” 

“No cleft in the liver?” 

“Not that I could see. It looked as livers ought to 
look, I should think.” 


3^2 Captain Bluitt 

^Then youVe lost your faith in Cicero?’’ 

‘‘You really can’t say I had faith in him; not faith. i 
I just wanted to look into the theory a little.” 

“And you reached no conclusions?” ' 

“Well, Puella, not exactly conclusions; not what you j 
would call final conclusions; just impressions.” 

“What kind of impressions?” 

“I know you will think it absurd, but do you know, 
Puella, there really was something about the appearance 
of that chicken that forced into my mind the idea that 
Rufus will be defeated?” 

“What was the appearance?” 

“I don’t know. Nothing in particular. Just a vague 
notion that came to me the moment I began to study the 
thing.” 

“Maybe if you had another kind of a chicken you would 
get another kind of vague notion?” 

“Maybe so, but once is enough. I’m not going to try 
it again.” 

“You’ll believe in the system will you, if Rufus should 
be defeated?” 

“I don’t say that; no, not that; but I’m glad I tried the 
experiment anyway, just as a matter of historical 
interest.” 

“How do you want the chicken cooked to-morrow?” 

“That chicken?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why, Puella, that is a consecrated chicken.” 

“You said we could eat it.” 

“Well, I did think so last night, but do you know, 
Puella, I couldn’t eat a particle of it now! I should have 
a strange kind of feeling that I was taking bites out of 
Rufus. I have him sort of identified with it in my mind.” 

Then Captain Bluitt took down his volume of Cicero, 
and began to read the concluding pages of De Divinatione. 


Divination and Politics 

On the day before the election Colonel Bly, who was 
stopping at the Eagle Hotel in Turley, found himself far 
from well. The colonel did not often meddle directly 
with small local elections such as that in which Turley 
was about to engage; but he was filled with malignant 
animosity for Davis Cook and he knew that, with fair 
play, the chance was good that Davis would be success- 
ful. So he had run down to Turley to lend the influence 
of his presence to the struggle in which his serfs were en- 
gaged, and to give to them the benefit of his counsel and 
of his trained experience if there should be necessity to 
resort to bold measures to overthrow the insolent 
plumber. 

It was the frequent practice of the colonel to turn 
aside from the task of directing the government of his 
dominions and to seek recuperation and diversion in the 
generous consumption of fluids of an exhilarating nature. 
This propensity was well known to his subjects, and those 
of them that were thoroughly loyal to him seemed to dis- 
cover in it one more reason why they should give him a 
full measure of devotion. They recognized the fact that no 
one man can have absolutely all the virtues, and that so 
great a man as the colonel should be overborne now and 
then by so amiable and pardonable a weakness, made him 
really more admirable. When the word went around 
among his faithful followers that ‘%e old man” was 
“having one of his spells,” every man of them, from Billy 
Grimes downward, smiled in a sad sort of way and won- 
dered what would become of the commonwealth if the 
colonel, one day, in the crisis of one of his spells, should 
be whisked off into eternity. 

Nobody cared to speculate what would become of the 
colonel, in such an event. The persons who held what 
were regarded as sound, orthodox religious opinions 
thought it not worth while to speculate. They felt that 
they knew. 

It was one of the milder of his spells that assailed the 


j 34 Captain Bluitt i 

colonel at the Eagle Hotel, and it soon passed off; but | 
it left him with a sharp attack of gout and with depres- 
sion of spirits that manifested itself in irritation when his 
serfs ventured to approach him. 

After suffering for several hours, the colonel decided ] 
to summon Dr. Quelch, the most skilful physician in the I 
neighborhood, and a man for whom the colonel had high I 
respect. Vice cannot help recognizing and secretly ac- 
knowledging the superiority of virtue. 

When Dr. Quelch entered the room, he found Colonel 
Bly, half lying on a sofa, with one leg stretched hori- 
zontally upon that piece of furniture ; with torn letters and 
envelopes and newspapers scattered upon the floor, with 
cigar-ashes sprinkling the statesman’s clothes and the 
carpet, and with a half-consumed cigar lying upon a table 
that stood close to the sofa. 

Dr. Quelch had visited the colonel before under some- 
what similar conditions and he was able to make an ac- 
curate diagnosis of the case as soon as he opened the 
door of the room and obtained a whiff of an atmosphere 
highly charged with alcoholic reminiscences. 

Colonel Bly greeted the physician warmly, putting 
aside all evidences of irritability and assuming that grac- 
iousness of manner which he was accustomed to employ 
with his people in the intervals of his spells. 

The physician supplied medicine and advice to his 
patient, and then, upon a pressing invitation from the 
colonel, tarried for a bit of talk. The impending election 
naturally presented itself as a theme for conversation . 

“You feel that you have the election pretty well in hand, 
do you, colonel?” asked the physician. 

“Perfectly in hand. We shall win, of course. In fact, 

I might say that we have the votes counted.” 

“It is really wonderful,” said Dr. Quelch, “how you 
exercise such control; but, of course, you know how to 
keep your own secrets,” and the physician smiled. 

Dr. Quelch had an impulse to study this creature, just 


Divination and Politics 3^5 

as he would have inclined to inquire respecting the nature 
of any other morbid phenomenon. 

“There are no secrets,” answered the colonel. “You 
know as much about it as I do, doctor. I can’t give you 
any information, I imagine.” 

“No, I don’t know about it. I might make a good 
guess, but that would be all.” 

“Well,” said Colonel Ely, “I know you are a safe man 
for me to talk to although we are not upon the same side 
in politics. The theory upon which I work is this: find 
out what a man wants and then tickle him with the idea 
that you are going to try to get it for him. That’s the 
whole of it. That’s all I know, anyway.” 

“What do most men want?” 

Colonel Ely laughed. 

“Now, doctor, surely you are not asking for informa- 
tion. Money, of course, and place.” 

“You can buy any man, then, you think?” 

“It is better not to make extreme statements; but you 
may say practically any man, or rather, perhaps, almost 
any man. Those that raw money won’t reach, or who 
are not hungry for places and promotion for themselves 
or their relations, can usually be reached by flattery. You 
know how strong self-love is in men? You can’t give 
them too much praise. Really it is astonishing to me 
sometimes how little of either money or praise will satisfy 
most men. Seven out of ten can be bought cheap, at any 
time.” 

“Women too, you believe?” 

“That is a delicate subject,” said the colonel, “but I 
have a notion you can extend the theory of purchasability 
pretty well over that sex. Eut you have to go a little 
more carefully. It is a mere matter of price if you have 
the right kind of consideration to offer.” 

“It seems to me that is in fact an extreme statement,” 
observed Dr. Quelch. 

“Maybe it is; but you can cover the whole case if you 


336 Captain Bluitt 

simply say that every man, with few exceptions, is first of 
all looking out for himself. He has what they call ‘the 
main chance,’ steadily in view; or to put it in another 
slang phrase, he takes care of number one first and last 
and all the time. Now, doctor, it is hardly necessary to 
say that, when all hands are hungry to sell, the man who 
comes along with the most money and the best nerve 
will get what he wants sure. There is no secret about 
it. Fni never half so anxious to win as the herd is to have 
me tip them and get them to help me win.” 

“I should hardly suppose a man holding your views of 
human nature would think the people fit for self-gov- 
ernment.” 

“Fit for self-government! Why doctor the idea is 
ridiculous. The mass of them haven’t the smallest quali- 
fication for the performance of that function. The best 
thing that can happen to them is to have their superiors 
take care of them. I am their superior and so are you. 
Take a man who always votes a straight ticket, as most 
of them do, and brags about it. Now there’s a man who 
hasn’t got sense enough to see that if he wants to help 
govern, he must discriminate among all the candidates. 
His one chance is to cut his ticket; but he prides himself 
on not doing it. Then, you see, I make the ticket for 
him and I’ve got him. After all, that is my best hold. I 
should never have the least chance if the voters would 
always pick and choose among the candidates. The 
theory is that they will do so; but they don’t, and so long 
as they don’t, I can do exactly as I please. I control the 
situation.” 

“I am sorry to say that you seem to have some warrant 
for your theory,” interposed Dr. Quelch. 

“If they were capable of governing themselves,” con- 
tinued Colonel Bly, “they wouldn’t let me govern them. 
The truth is most men like to have somebody to lean on — 
somebody to take care of them ; and mighty few of them 
really know anything about politics and public affairs. 


Divination and Politics 337 

Start them to whooping for ‘the old flag’ and you can 
lead them anywhere. Men admire success. What have I 
done to excite enthusiasm? Nothing, except to give 
some of the crowd offices; yet they applaud me and run 
after me as if I were a great public benefactor. I tell 
you, doctor, that, taking men by and large, they are 
rather a poor lot — only fit to be directed.” 

“Your opinion, however, runs quite contrary to the 
theories upon which the fabric of this government was 
constructed,” said Dr. Quelch, “but maybe our fore- 
fathers were wrong.” 

“Dead wrong as a matter of practice, although the 
theories look and sound well. You can see for yourself 
how, in actual practice, the people want me to manage 
them. If I do it I must have compensation for my 
talent and efifort. I love power and money and I get 
both. Isn’t it perfectly evident that the people are glad 
to pay the price? You can’t unseat me in this state any 
more than if I were Emperor. No doubt you’re a smarter 
man than I am, and some people might call you a better 
one; but if you should run against me in an election, I 
could beat you in your own community. The reason is 
I control the machine, and I do so because, being in 
power, I have favors and promises to give and you, being 
out of power, have none.” 

“I am confident,” said the physician, “that you could 
defeat me at the polls, but you will never have a chance. 
I would not accept a political nomination.” 

Colonel Ely smiled as he said: 

“You couldn’t get a nomination without my consent. I 
mean a nomination on the Democratic ticket. It strikes 
me as a little bit odd, though, doctor, that you never en- 
tered politics. But then I don’t pretend to get hold of 
your theory of life. Why, for example, you bother your- 
self about niggers surpasses my understanding. It’s 
hard to believe that a man like you, well-fixed and com- 
fortable, really can care because a nigger is being kicked 


^22 


j 38 Captain Bluitt 

about clown in Georgia. What difference can it make to 
you or me how much he is kicked?’’ 

“Men see these things differently,” said Dr. Quelch, 
quietly. He began to feel as if an inquiry of this kind 
cost almost too much. 

“It’s the same way about money,” continued Colonel 
Bly. “Pardon me for referring to it, but it has been re- 
ported everywhere that when Mrs. Rawson of Birney 
died and left you her handsome property, you refused to 
take a dollar of it.” 

“I thought her relations should have it,” said Dr. 
Quelch. 

“Well, as you say, we don’t look at these matters in 
the same way. You had a right to refuse it; but that 
wouldn’t have been my way.” 

“Referring to your political operations,” said Dr. 
Quelch, wishing to change the subject of conversation, 
“it is necessary, of course, frequently to disregard the 
law?” 

“Why yes!” answered the colonel, smiling, “just as you 
disregard it when you help niggers to run away from 
their masters.” 

Dr. Quelch winced a little bit; but he felt that it was 
not worth while to take up that branch of the subject 
with the colonel. 

“Laws,” continued Colonel Bly, “are useful just to 
compel ignorant people to keep hands-off while superior 
men fill their own pockets and get all they want. Law 
always has been set aside and it always will be by great 
men wherever it offers obstruction to their purposes. 
Napoleon, for example.” 

“Well,” said Dr. Quelch, “but do you make no dis- 
tinction between righteousness and unrighteousness?” 

“Don’t you thing those are mere words? The talk 
about righteousness has its uses. It is good to amuse 
weak people. That is what the preachers are for. They 
help me. These terms satisfy sentimentalists, but they 


Divination and Politics 339 

are really void of meaning. The only right is might- 
triumphant might, of brain or muscle. The strong man 
is right if he wins and wrong if he loses.” 

“It is your notion, then, that Washington and Benedict 
Arnold, for example, stand about on the same plane?” 

“Of course now, Dr. Quelch, I am speaking to you as 
one gentleman to another,” said the colonel, and Dr. 
Quelch felt as a man does who is conscious of a stench 
reeking in his nostrils, “and what I say as a practical 
politician is this : Arnold thought his cause was lost and 
he took cash to quit; just as I said: taking care of him- 
self. If it had been lost, he would have been on top and 
Washington would have been hanged. Arnold played to 
win and lost the game; but it was a bold play and if the 
game had gone the other way posterity would have 
judged him differently. That's my view.” 

Dr. Quelch looked grave. He rose from his chair 
and walked to the window and back again. Stopping in 
front of Bly, who watched him as if he were studying the 
doctor quite as keenly as the doctor was studying him. 
Dr. Quelch said: 

“God is left clear out, of course, in your transactions?” 

Colonel Bly tipped back his chair, feeling that, for his 
part, the discussion had gone almost far enough. 

“God!” exclaimed he. “I've heard a good deal about 
him, but he doesn't seem to me to be in the game at all. 
Where is he?. Why doesn't he talk? Why doesn't he 
show himself and interfere? Look at history 1 Look over 
the field of human action and tell me where he comes in! 
Why didn't he meddle when Caesar stamped the world 
under his feet? Why didn't he stop the French Revolu- 
tion? Why doesn't he help the suffering women and 
children that call for him? You think the slaves are 
frightfully wronged. Why doesn't God take up their 
cause?” 

“Perhaps he will,” replied Dr. Quelch. 

“You will never live to see it,” said the colonel. “God! 


^40 Captain Bluitt 

I never notice that he lends a hand where the hand is most 
needed. If there is a God he helps those that are in re- 
ligion for dollars! Can you pray a church out of debt? 
I guess not! When the church-people want to lift a mort- 
gage they come to me and I help them because I believe 
in helping anything that will teach the inferior classes that 
they should submit to be ruled. The church-people don't 
ask me where I got the money, except that fool Davis 
Cook, and I’ll settle with him!” 

“Your whole view, then,” remarked the doctor, “is con- 
fined to this life only?” 

“Why, certainly. What is the use of sensible men con- 
sidering hereafter? Hereafter? Doctor, you know well 
enough that all the evidence supplied by your profession 
points to annihilation. You get no trace of the immor- 
tality of the soul, now do you? Hereafter! There is 
none. When a man dies he is just wiped out. Depend 
upon it, the man who wins the game here wins the only 
game there is.” 

Later in the day the local committee, headed by Billy 
Grimes, met in Colonel Ely’s apartment to give to him 
an account of the movement of the campaign, to sum up 
results, and to make final arrangements for the opera- 
tions of to-morrow. 

Billy Grimes sat at the table and handled the papers, 
and from time to time, “workers” came in to bring re- 
ports and to receive instructions. 

Mr. Grimes was fully acquainted with the facts re- 
specting the situation in all the wards, and he considered 
the prospect for his party more than encouraging every- 
where but in the Third Ward, where Davis Cook, the 
renegade and the personal enemy of the revered head of 
the party, was conducting his battle with such energy 
and spirit as surprised even the persons who had never 
suspected the plumber of being a torpid person. 


Divination and Politics 


341 


Davis had called at every house in the ward; he had 
shaken hands with all the men, said gracious words to all 
the women whom he could see, patted all the children who 
could walk, kissed nearly all the infants in arms, smiled 
at the grandmothers, given cigars to all the grandfathers 
who smoked, and in several instances had gratuitously 
supplied invaluable professional advice to the hired girls 
about bath-boilers, spigots and water-backs. He had 
made a contribution to the Baptist organ-fund; bought 
six tickets for the Methodist fair ; taken fifteen chances in 
a contest for a gold watch at the Catholic festival; and 
fixed all the gas-lights for nothing in the room where 
the Lutherans held their concert; and not only had he 
used the plain language successfully when arranging with 
the Friends for repairing the spouting on the meeting 
house, but he threw off half his bill when he presented it 
for settlement. 

During the campaign he rescued Jacob Gessler’s little 
girl from a dog that had attacked her; helped John Dung- 
linson’s wife to mend the harness on her horse when a 
break occurred in front of Robinson’s grocery; lent Joe 
Blumenthal five dollars to pay a bill that was pressing 
him; went bail for two Democrats who were arrested 
for fighting; gave the colored Ebenezer church a new 
and brilliantly red cushion for the pulpit; bought a set of 
American colors for the Turley boat-club; presented 
Shakespeare’s works bound in blue and gold, and with 
notes, to the Garrick Dramatic Club and drove home Mrs. 
McMinniss’s cow when he found it astray out on the 
Donovan road. 

'‘He is putting up a stiff fight,” said Billy Grimes to 
Colonel Bly, as the story of these achievements was re- 
lated. A stiff fight indeed. Davis was a fighter. He 
would win gloriously or he would fail because no man 
could win against such odds as Billy Grimes and the 
colonel’s organization had on their side. Even Billy, as 


}42 Captain Bluitt 

he considered the plumber, had a feeling of admiration 
for him. 

“What wouldn’t a man like that be worth to us if he 
only had sense enough to fall in with the faithful, said 
Mr. Grimes. 

But he must be beaten and Billy was confident that the 
task could be performed. 

There were two hundred and twenty Democrats in the 
Third Ward. The reports showed that nine of these were 
away from town and would not be home until after the 
election. It had been ascertained, also, that five Demo- 
crats, hitherto faithful, had declared openly for Davis 
and would surely vote for him. One of these was Jacob 
Gessler, who was impelled by gratitude for the rescue of 
his child. The other four belonged to the same lodge of 
the Knights of Pythias that Davis was a member of. 
Three other Democrats were sick abed. 

Thus Mr. Grimes discovered that there were only two 
hundred and three Democrats in the ward upon whose 
votes he could count with feelings of confidence. 

Now it was known that there were in the ward one 
hundred and eighty-seven Whigs who were at home, in 
vigorous health, and fully charged with enthusiasm for 
Davis Cook. 

If Davis had had no more voters than these, defeat 
would already be assured; but Mr. Grimes had discovered 
that twelve Know Nothings had been seduced from loy- 
alty to their own party and had rallied to the plumber’s 
standard because they were Odd Fellows or Red Men or 
Knights of Pythias or Sons of America. As Mr. Grimes 
considered this scandalous breaking down of party-lines 
he said: 

“These secret societies ought to be suppressed. They 
are a menace to free government,” and Colonel Bly, 
whose solicitude for the maintenance of free institutions 
was just as intense as Billy’s, gave warm approval to the 
suggestion. 


Divination and Politics 34^ 

Davis Cook, therefore, had one hundred and ninety- 
nine votes, so far; and the Democratic majority had been 
whittled down to four, when a worker came into the room 
with the depressing information that two of the Prohi- 
bitionists, the Baptist deacon and one other man, were 
going to vote for Davis because he was a total abstainer 
and a pronounced advocate of the temperance cause. 

Billy Grimes felt as if things were giving way be- 
neath his feet, and even the colonel could not restrain 
himself from expressing, in language that no self-respect- 
ing printer would consent to put into type, the view taken 
by him of temperance people generally and of the Turley 
plumber in particular. 

A possible majority of two offered a margin too narrow 
for safety. Two Democrats might be taken ill, or might 
be won over by the astonishing allurements presented by 
Cook; or might drink to excess, or might encounter any 
one of a thousand possible accidents. More men must be 
had somewhere. But where? 

There were eight voters in the Almshouse who had 
been bought up by the Whigs and who had resisted all 
efforts to induce them to change their minds. 

“None of them can read, can they?” asked Billy Grimes 
of the man who brought him the information. 

“No.” 

“Well, you give some man ten dollars to steal the 
ballots the Whigs gave them and to put our tickets in 
their hands.” 

“No,” said Colonel Bly, with emphasis, “go to the 
superintendent and hand him fifty dollars and tell him to 
threaten the paupers with half-rations if they don’t vote 
our way, and let him know that he’ll lose his job on the 
first of the month if those fellows vote wrong.” 

“That will fix them, I guess,” said Mr. Grimes, with 
admiration for the colonel. 

There were six very old and infirm Democrats in the 
ward, loyal to the party and to the colonel, who could not 


344 Captain Bluitt 

walk to the polls, and it was Mr. Grimes’s custom to 
bring them to the polls in carriages. 

He was disgusted to learn that the Whigs, this year, 
had hired every public conveyance in the town for the 
whole of the election-day, and that the veteran Demo- 
crats would probably have to remain at home. Not a 
member of the party in Turley owned a carriage. One 
of Mr. Grimes’s lieutenants proposed to bring the veter- 
ans around in wheel-barrows; but this suggestion was not 
accepted, for fear the veterans might regard that method 
of conveyance as wanting in dignity. Mr. Grimes solved 
the problem by sending a messenger off to the town of 
Donovan to engage four Democratic hacks and hack- 
drivers to come up to Turley to stay all night. 

By midnight all the reports were in, and victory seemed 
to be assured for Rufus Potter and the regular ticket. 
Billy Grimes went home feeling tolerably comfortable, but 
anxious, and the colonel retired to rest with the convic- 
tion that Billy had not been doing so well lately as he 
once did and that the time was near when measures might 
have to be taken to appoint his successor. 

But, in truth, the colonel had no good reason for com- 
plaint. All the Democrats who were expected to vote 
for the regular ticket did so, and six of the eight voters 
in the Almshouse, yielding to threats and solicitation, 
polled the Democratic ticket. Besides, one of the Pro- 
hibitionists suddenly had conscientious scruples in the 
night about voting the Whig ticket and he backed out. 
Thus, when the polls closed and the ballots were counted, 
it was found that Rufus Potter had a majority of sixteen 
votes. 

The American methods of haruspication really seemed 
to have been defective. 


CHAPTER XXI 

Prince Bunder Foot Singh returns to Turley 

O N the day before the election the Indian prince, 
Bunder Foot Singh, returned to Turley to pay 
the long-promised visit. His coming had been 
delayed much beyond the date that had been 
named by him upon the occasion of his first appearance 
in the town; and this was accounted for by the fact that 
the Indian had found high favor wherever he had gone, 
and he had been entreated to prolong his stay among 
the people who found so much pleasure in his social 
qualities and in the manifestations of his really remark- 
able power as an orator. 

But, at last, he came back to Turley, where a welcome 
not less hearty and eager than had been given him in 
other towns, awaited him. 

Dr. Frobisher was at the little railway-station when 
the train came in and Prince Bunder Foot Singh stepped 
out upon the platform with his satchel in his hand. 

The loungers about the station gazed curiously at him 
while he lingered to direct Saul Tarsel’s movements with 
his baggage. He wore a graceful flowing costume of 
brown color, tied with a sash of blue silk, and on his 
head was a white turban. ‘^Not a bit like a black man,’^ 
said one of the observers, looking at his straight dark 
hair, his thin, arched nose, his beautifully formed lips. 
The Prince nearly always made a good first impression, 
and the Turleyites who looked upon his manly beauty 
as he stood there, tall, straight and handsome, admired 
him without reservation. 

Stepping into the carriage with Mr. Frobisher, he 

(345) 


j 46 Captain Bluitt 

drove to the clergyman’s house, where Mrs. Frobisher 
met him and welcomed him, and declared that he should 
be her guest so long as he should tarry in Turley. 

When he had come down from his chamber to the 
living room of the parsonage, the prince informed Dr. 
and Mrs. Frobisher that he considered it right, first of 
all, that he should present his credentials. 

The minister insisted that this was by no means neces- 
sary, but Bunder Foot would not permit the formality to 
be waived; and soon Dr. Frobisher learned that this 
visitor’s letters were from eminent members of the gov- 
ernment of India, from leading missionaries, from well- 
known philanthropists in England, from officers of im- 
portant religious societies in America, and from several 
American clergymen of influence and high standing. 

There is small reason for saying that these papers were 
conclusive and that Dr. and Mrs. Frobisher infused ad- 
ditional fervor, if that were possible, into their entreaty 
that the Indian would make their poor house, so little like 
his own splendid palace, his home while Turley had the 
favor of his presence. 

This invitation was graciously accepted by the visitor. 

After tea Dr. Frobisher had family-prayers and as the 
prince was a devoted Christian, having lost at home 
more than can be described, in prestige and fortune, 
because he had experienced conversion, the minister, 
when he read the Scriptures, invited his guest to lead in 
prayer, and this he did with his soft sweet voice, in a 
manner which Mrs. Frobisher afterward described as 
‘‘inexpressibly affecting; the doctor himself could not 
use more touching language.” 

Worship ended, the prince folded his arms and crossed 
his legs while he explained more fully the purpose for 
which he had forsaken his own dear land and come to 
the home of the stranger. No sooner had he been con- 
vinced of the truth of the Christian religion and had 
yielded himself to it than his heart began to yearn for 


Bunder Foot Singh 347 

the wretched and forlorn pariahs of his own land. He 
felt that he must do something, not only to improve their 
physical condition, but to bring to their darkened minds 
the blessed light of the Gospel. Bunder Foot then de- 
scribed the nature of the work he had done, in establish- 
ing schools and missions and in distributing rations to 
the hungry and how much the larger portion of his for- 
tune had been spent in carrying forward his plans. When 
he felt that the good work had grown almost too large 
even for the wealth of a rich man, the thought had oc- 
curred to him that he might obtain help from his fellow- 
Christians in far away Europe and America who had 
always shown affectionate solicitude for his unhappy fel- 
low-countrymen and who would no doubt be glad to help 
him in the important philanthropic task that he had now 
undertaken. 

The Prince settled down to life in Turley with a de- 
clared purpose to extend his visit far into the coming 
winter. 

That he might have a fit place in which to conduct 
his large correspondence and to attend to the general bus- 
iness of his mission without interruption or distraction, 
Dr. Frobisher turned over to him the pastor’s study at 
the church ; and here, with a w’arm fire in the stove, with 
comfortable chairs, a lounge, a nice table and a book- 
case, the prince began his work. The doctor’s favorite 
picture of Little Samuel in a devotional attitude, looked 
down upon him from the wall; and Saul Tarsel waited in 
the church, or in the vicinity of the church, to do the 
bidding of the visitor. 

^‘He’s jes a brown man, lek I am,” said Tarsel, “but 
he’s one of de quality folks, while I’se on’y a nigger.” 

The interest aroused by this visit may be imagined if 
we will consider how prosy and dull life may become in a 
small town whose people spent their lives amid groceries, 
shoe-manufacturing and house-keeping and how the ap- 
pearance in so dull a community of a being from the 


348 Captain Bluitt 

Orient, a being wholly unlike any Turleyite or kinsman 
of a Turleyite in color, dress or manners, would surely 
affect the popular imagination. It really seemed as if 
a fairy-story had been suddenly interwoven with the dull 
drama of life; as if a patch of splendid color had been 
projected upon the sober grey of Turley ian existence. 
Not only was the visitor a native of those mysterious 
lands of the East where were found civilizations whose 
origin was lost in the mists of tradition; of lands where 
there was strange learning and whence came the litera- 
ture that dealt with the obscurest spiritual problems, but 
he was a man of a kingly race, carrying in his veins the 
blood of how many monarchs in whose palaces were gems 
of priceless value and who had held the power of life 
and death for uncountable centuries over subject popu- 
lations? This man of noble ancestry, with history back 
of him and mystery about him, had actually been pro- 
jected by fate into the American town of Turley where 
the light of civilization shone but to show how thread- 
bare and homely and uninteresting common American 
life may be. 

Mr. Matlack and some of the other Know Nothings 
found reason to fear, from the very first, that the presence 
of this august and splendid personage in Turley, clad in 
raiment wholly unknown in lands where Freedom 
reigned, might begin a movement which would tend to 
undermine American institutions. Heretofore, Mr. Mat- 
lack urged, the despots of distant lands had exerted their 
destructive influences from afar; but now, one of them 
had boldly invaded the territories of the Republic and 
under the disguise of religious enthusiasm, was probably 
beginning to sap the vitality of our glorious system of 
free popular government. The man had influence as 
soon as he entered Turley. That he was handsome was 
much; that he had fabulous wealth, was more; but that 
he was a Prince was a stupendous fact, and Turley, stiffly 
republican as it had always been, could not restrain itself 


Bunder Foot Singh 349 

from experiencing a sense of mixed awe and reverence 
when it considered this personage of royal lineage. 

The fine figure of the prince became a familiar object 
upon the streets. He had no affectations, no haughtiness. 
He went everywhere, and everywhere manifested the ab- 
sence of reserve which is so often found in personages 
whose high position is fully assured. It was indeed in- 
teresting, and even touching, to observe the refined grace 
and kindliness with which he met the plainest people when 
he encountered them upon the public thoroughfares, ex- 
changing greetings with them as if there were no distance 
between them. 

He acted always like a highly-bred American citizen 
" and not as Turley would have expected a man to act who 
was the heir of a line of a hundred princes stretching 
back into prehistoric times. 

Even Mr. Matlack grew to like him, though Mr. Mat- 
lack persisted in being wary and in having everything 
ready to counteract any pernicious influence which the 
prince might be preparing surreptitiously to spring upon 
Mr. Matlack’s beloved country; and Rufus Potter, who 
at first stupidly insisted that the prince was a colored man 
whom he used to see driving an express-wagon in Knox- 
ville in 1847, surrendered his conviction and his preju- 
dice when the prince bowed to him upon the street and 
said “Good morning Mr. Potter!’^ Rufus then frankly 
confessed that he was mistaken and that the man he knew 
in Knoxville had curly hair, a stub-nose and a complexion 
four shades nearer to black. 

Bunder Poot Singh appeared to be very fond of social 
functions, where his graces of word and manner almost 
endeared him to those who had the privilege of knowing 
him closely. 

Early in his sojourn Mrs. Frobisher gave a tea at 
which the prince appeared in yellow-satin coat and 
trousers, with a red sash and a white turban in the front 
of which glowed a great ruby of huge value. Nobody 


jjo Captain Bluitt 

knew just how the story got about, but it was generally 
said that this splendid stone had been in the prince s 
family since the reign of his ancestor, Rajah Bunder 
Boom Peet, in the year 407, and that, for a thousand 
years before that time it had been the eye of an idol in 
the temple at Bamramjampore. 

The sensation created among the ladies of Turley by 
the ruby and the yellow-satin costume can hardly be in- 
dicated by language. Really it amounted to emotion 
deep emotion; and even Florabella Burns, who had come 
home again, and was unavoidably involved in this move- 
ment that whirled around the person of the prince, could 
hardly succeed, amid the excitement and the enthusiastic 
admiration expressed for the prince by the other ladies, 
in holding firmly to the prejudices most unreasonably 
formed by her against this most charming man. 

Mrs. Frobisher, when she heard that Florabella was 
doubtful, said with scorn: 

‘‘How ridiculous! Some people never believe any- 

thing!” . 

Tea after tea was given by the families connected with 
the Presbyterian Church, and to each one of them the 
prince graciously came, sometimes in the yellow-satin 
trousers, sometimes in trousers of crimson silk, or of 
blue silk, or of white silk, but always with the white 
turban and the priceless ancestral ruby which had once 
served the purposes of an impure religion. 

Society in Turley, for a few weeks after the arrival of 
Bunder Poot Singh, was really almost too giddy for its 
spiritual welfare. Dr. Frobisher hoped that the feverish- 
ness of the excitement would speedily abate. 

Delightful, however, as the visitor was in society, he 
was found to be most charming in the quiet seclusion 
of home. To Mrs. Frobisher his presence was a source 
of perpetual delight. She had long talks with him. To 
her he told much of the history of his family and he left 
the impression on her mind, though she could not say 


Bunder Foot Singh jji 

that she clearly understood him, that his great grand- 
father had been a devotee and had for years swung 
round and round a pole with a hook fastened in the 
muscles of his back. 

Mrs. Frobisher explained to him that her ancestor, 
Commissary General Smith, had served with Braddock, 
and she was sorry, though not surprised, to find that 
Bunder Foot had never heard of Braddock. But he 
manifested most kindly and sympathetic interest when 
she explained that General Braddock was an officer of the 
army of that great nation which had brought civilization 
and the Christian faith to idolatrous India and that the 
General had been killed upon the battle-field and brought 
home in one of the wagons supplied by her ancestor, 
General Smith. 

Mrs. Frobisher more than once mentioned incidentally, 
but with emphasis, that her mother was a Metcalf of 
Aramingo, for she had a feeling in her mind that even 
some little tawdry shreds of family grandeur had better 
be waved at this man of splendid ancestry, rather than 
that he should class her with the vulgar herd of Turley 
people, most of whom did not know anything of their 
great grandfathers, and would have been ashamed of it, 
had they known anything. 

It was in some degree painful to Mrs. Frobisher, in 
whose eyes the Metcalfs had always seemed to possess a 
very high flavor of aristocracy, to find that they had 
rather a prebeian look when they were brought directly 
into the glare of the glorious light that shone from the 
family records of Bunder Foot Singh and his mighty 
forefather. Rajah Bunder Boom Feet; but the depressed 
feeling passed off when she discovered that the prince 
really appeared to become more and more deferential in 
his bearing towards her after she had informed him for 
the ninth or tenth time that she herself was a Metcalf of 
Aramingo. 

“Ferhaps, even in his far distant land, amidst the cares 


JJ2 Captain Bluitt 

of state and the glories of his throne-room, he may have 
heard something of us.” 

But it was not so. No rumor of the importance of the 
Metcalfs of Aramingo had been wafted across the seas 
and carried by the spicy breezes of India into the glorious 
palace of Bunder Foot Singh. Bunder was indeed im- 
pressed in some measure by the strong persistence with 
which Mrs. Frgbisher urged upon him the fact that she 
was a Metcalf of Aramingo, and while he was too prudent 
to betray to her his interest or his curiosity, he did choose 
an early opportunity, when he met Florabella Burns 
alone, to ask her. 

“Please, Mrs. Burns, what is a Metcalf?” 

Dr. Frobisher was grateful to discover that the pleas- 
ures of a rather intense social life had no power to divert 
Bunder Foot Singh from the purposes of his mission. 
He took deep interest in the work of the church, attend- 
ing all the services, visiting the prayer-meetings and par- 
ticipating in the devotions, and sometimes speaking 
briefly. He had not preached another long sermon to the 
congregation. He said to Dr. Frobisher that he should 
prefer to do that upon a later day, when he had more 
thoroughly arranged his plans and had acquired better 
acquaintance with the people of Turley. 

The prince was well aware that every day he made 
among the people of the town new friends for himself, 
and gained strength for his cause. When he should make 
his final appeal for help, he would make it with power, to 
hearers who would be in sympathy with him as a friend, 
as well as a missionary. 

But the prince spoke to the Sunday School more than 
once about life in India and gave a most impressive and 
even painful account of the hateful ceremonies connected 
with the car of Juggernaut. The superintendent of the 
school told his wife that he thought, but was not quite 
certain, that the prince himself, before conversion, had 


Bunder Foot Singh 

once actually helped to pull the car, and that his aunt 
had been ground to death beneath its wheels. 

To the General Culture Club, at the earnest request 
of the president, Mrs. Frobisher, he spoke twice upon 
the subject of “The Alleviation of the Condition of Hindu 
Women,” and his addresses were so persuasive that the 
society resolved to take up that work at once in a prac- 
tical way. 

Bunder Foot Singh seemed inclined to prefer the 
society of ladies and he was a favorite with all of them ; — 
with all save one. His remarkably good taste was demon- 
strated by his very warm admiration for Mrs. Burns. 
Always he showed to her marked attention when he met 
her at the teas and meetings, and he had called upon her 
at her house. The feeling in Turley was that Mrs. Burns 
might have a chance before the winter was ended of par- 
ticipating in the making of a singular and really brilliant 
match. But this was one of the cases in which two souls 
did not simultaneously find themselves filled with recip- 
rocal yearnings. Mrs. Burns did not even feel that the 
favor for her manifested by the distinguished Oriental had 
in it anything in the nature of a compliment. She had 
for him a stronger aversion than before, and she refused 
his invitations to drive with him, to walk with him or to 
accept him as an escort to her home from some of the 
functions. No doubt Bunder was discouraged by the 
irresponsive conduct of Florabella; but he had the warm 
impulses of the children of the East, and one afternoon 
when he had insisted upon seeing her at her own home, 
he literally flung himself at her feet and abruptly de- 
clared his love for her. 

Florabella 'was indignant, but self-possessed. Rising, 
she said: 

“You have no right to make such a declaration to me! 
I cannot hear of such a thing. It is simply shocking for 
you to address me in this manner.” 

And then, as Bunder took his leave in dismay and 


23 


3?4 


Captain Bluitt 

anger, she sat down and wrote to Captain Bluitt, with 
whom in his absence from home she conducted corres- 
pondence upon business and other matters, an indignant 
letter relating the occurrence and declaring that Bunder’s 
conduct was a manifestation of sheer impertinence. 

When next Mrs. Burns saw Dorothea she told her also 
of the incident, and for the first time for months the young 
girl laughed and said: 

“I am so glad you refused him! He would have taken 
you off to his Indian palace and there, covered with 
jewels and dressed in queer clothes, you would have for- 
gotten me and old Turley and all your friends.’^ 

“It was perfectly scandalous,” said Florabella, who 
was too vexed to laugh. “But I will never desert you 
my dear,” and then she put her arms about Dorothea 
and kissed her. 

“We must,” she said, “somehow end this dreadful 
matter of your’s with Walter. O, why was I not at home 
to take it up and settle it during the summer?” 

“There will be no end, I fear;” answered Dorothea, 
her gayety all gone, “no end unless father shall change 
his mind.” 

“I will talk to him about it.”^ 

“And O, Mrs. Burns! what has become of Walter? If 
he loves me why does he not write to me? I hear of 
his going about with another girl. It cannot be, no, it 
cannot, that he has ceased to care for me!” 

“Certainly not! He has too much sense for that. De- 
pend upon it Dorry, there is something^wrong of which 
we have no suspicion. What if he has written to you?” 

“Then I should have received his letters.” 

Mrs. Burns was silent for a moment. She would not 
speak her thought. 

“Well,” she said at length, “we must see about it. I 
will write to him myself.” 

Judge McCann still struggled with Motor-difficulties 
and hitches in his work-shop, but Hope sprang eternal 


Bunder Foot Singh ^^5 

in his breast. His faith in the Motor and in the mag’nifi- 
cence of the dimensions of the fortune that awaited him 
was strong as ever. 

Miss Bluitt had been out to see the Motor again and 
was so delighted with it when she saw it really in opera- 
tion that Judge McGann offered to explain the principles 
underlying the machine when he should call at her house 
some evening. Thereupon she invited him to take tea 
with her, and as she had been very lonely in her brother’s 
absence, it was really delightful to have this original and 
gifted man with her to reveal to her the secrets of one 
of the most remarkable inventions of the century and to 
tell her also of his adventures during the War with 
Mexico. 

Bunder Foot Singh found his way to the inventor’s 
studio before he had been in Turley many days; and his 
keen mind at once appreciated the value of the Motor. 
He watched it for a long time and when he had heard 
McGann tell of the great things the machine would do, 
he said: 

^Tt is wonderful! I should like to become part-owner 
of that machine. It would accomplish great things for 
India.” 

Before October was half-gone the time had come for 
John Hamilton to pay to Judge McGann the five thou- 
sand dollars representing the second instalment of the 
purchase-money; and McGann, of course, was eager to 
have the payment made. Almost all of the first five 
thousand had disappeared; and the patents were not yet 
completed. 

Hamilton filched the money from the vaults of the 
bank one afternoon, almost without any feeling of com- 
punction; and when the bank was closed he walked out 
to the work-shop, and saw McGann. 

^Ts there nothing from Washington yet?” he asked. 

“No,” answered McGann. “The full papers are not 


3j 6 Captain Bluitt 

here; but that makes no difference. They will come 
before long.” 

“It makes little difference, maybe, whether the patent- 
papers come sooner or later,” said Hamilton, “but it 
will make a big difference. Judge, if you don’t contrive 
to have that current carry over a longer distance.” 

“Now, don’t worry about that,” responded McGann. 
“That is only a matter of a little more experiment. I 
have the theory perfectly in my mind, and I only have 
to work out the details of the mechanical device.” 

“If you should die that wouldn’t be worth much to me.” 

“My gracious, man!” said the judge, “you could get 
your money back twice over for that Motor just as it 
stands! The patents that are pending will command big 
prices in five years if I don’t live another minute.” 

“Five years!” said Hamilton, despondently. 

“Well, what about five years?” demanded the judge 
almost angrily. “You don’t expect an invention like 
this, which never had any precedents to go by, but 
started right from a brand new idea, to jump into ex- 
istence absolutely complete and faultless in five minutes 
or five months! Things don’t act in that way — not by a 
great deal.” 

Hamilton did not reply. 

^‘You’re dissatisfied, aren’t you?” asked McGann. 

“Not just that; but — ” 

“Well, as I said to you long ago, if you don’t want to 
go on, just drop it. Bluitt will buy you out; Miss Bluitt 
will buy you out; and it isn’t four days since that Indian 
as good as said to me that he would put money into the 
Motor if I would give him a chance. I’ll sell your claim 
for you, if you want me to; only I wish you would speak 
quick, for I need the money.” 

“I have it in my pocket,” said Hamilton, whose fears 
had been somewhat dissipated by the assurance that other 
people were eager to invest. 

The cashier went over to the judge’s desk, near to the 


Bunder Foot Singh 

window, and taking out the bank notes, spread them 
about in bunches so that they could be more easily 
counted. 

First he counted them himself, very carefully. Then 
Judge McGann took them up and counted them, not very 
carefully. With the notes lying openly upon the desk, 
the two men engaged in some further talk about the 
Motor and about the patents, and then Judge McGann 
sat down to write out the receipt. As Hamilton handed 
him the pen, the cashier happened to look up, and there 
was Bunder Foot Singh standing out in the garden, 
gazing through the window. 

He had seen the entire transaction. 

He left the window and came to the door, which he 
opened without knocking, while McGann swept the notes 
hurriedly into the drawer of the desk. 

'Tardon me,” said Bunder Foot, ‘‘but am I in the 
way? Are you gentlemen having a private conference? 
No? Well, I should have knocked, but I thought you 
were alone, Judge McGann, and I was very anxious to 
see you.” 

‘T will go,” said Hamilton. 

“No, no!” exclaimed Bunder, putting up his hand. “It 
is not a secret matter. I wanted to know if you would 
take a partner in your invention, judge? I have a wealthy 
friend in London who gave me instructions to look out 
for any good thing that I could find among you wonder- 
ful Americans in the way of a new machine; and I am 
convinced that he would wish me to buy some of the 
rig-hts in this remarkable device if he knew about it as 
I do.” 

“I am very sorry,” answered Judge McGann, “but I 
can’t give you the opportunity at present. The machine is 
not perfected, and until I have it in complete running 
order I should prefer not to have partners.” 

The inventor diverged a little way from the straight 


3j 8 Captain Bluitt 

line of veracity, for he remembered his promise not to 
mention Hamilton’s connection with the enterprise. 

“Ah!” said the Indian, “no doubt you are right. Of 
course, perfectly right! The machine must be complete 
before you will sell. That is the proper way to do. But, 
when you are ready to sell you will let my London friend 
know — will you not?” 

“I will see about it,” said McGann. 

“I understand,” said the Indian to Hamilton, “this wise 
and great man with the marvelous mind wants to keep 
it and make all the money for himself. That is what he is 
planning to do.” 

“Perhaps^so,” said Hamilton. 

“And if he should wish to sell part of his rights, he 
would probably prefer to favor his friends in his own 
town! Well, no one can blame him. It is fair. It is 
right. And he will have no trouble I am sure to find 
plenty of investors here in Turley. Will you let me see 
the Motor go once more. Judge?” 

The inventor turned the switch and the machine began 
to move in the most beautiful manner. 

“Wonderful, wonderful!” exclaimed Bunder, throwing 
up both his hands. “Ah! You are a great people, an 
astonishing people!” 

Then he said good-bye and took his leave, and as he 
passed the window he looked around and into the room 
again. 

“I wish that man hadn’t come in just at that moment,” 
said Hamilton. 

“He saw nothing,” said McGann. 

“I hope not,” was the reply of the cashier; but he 
feared, also. 


CHAPTER XXII 


The Cobra Strikes 

T WO days after his visit to the workshop of Judge 
McGann, Bunder Foot called at the house of 
John Hamilton to spend an hour with him in 
response to an invitation more than once given 
to the distinguished visitor by both Mr. and Mrs. Ham- 
ilton. Very unfortunately Mrs. Hamilton upon this even- 
ing was ill and unable to leave her room, and Dorothea 
was compelled to go out soon after Bunder Foot came 
in because she had engaged to practice with the choir at 
the church. 

And thus Flamilton and the prince had a good chance 
to smoke and talk as they would; and the host was not 
displeased, for he found the Indian good company. 
Bunder had seen much of the world, as may be supposed ; 
and while it was agreeable to hear him talk of the people 
whom he had met in Europe, and of his wonderful adven- 
tures upon that and other continents, after all, he was 
most interesting when he spoke of his own land, his own 
people and his own life amid conditions differing so much 
from those with which Hamilton was familiar. 

Hamilton could not help remarking, more than once, 
as his guest in his animated speech seemed to lose all 
self-consciousness, how handsome he was, what elegance 
distinguished his manners and how his speech was 
warmed by the eloquence that shone even in his private 
conversation. 

As Hamilton heard him talk, and talked with him, the 
mind of the cashier was diverted from the serious offence 
that he had committed, memory of which was ever-pres- 

(359) 


360 Captain Bluitt 

ent with him; and he actually felt grateful to Bunder Foot 
that he had come to see him and to give him entertain- 
ment of a character so delightful. 

It was plain enough, the cashier thought, that the 
Indian had made no observations at the studio when he 
looked through the window. There was nothing in his 
manner or his look to indicate that he had the smallest 
suspicion of the transaction in which Judge McGann and 
Hamilton were engaged. 

Bunder Foot appeared to like to speak upon topics 
related to religion; and, as the evening wore on, he said 
to Hamilton: 

“How much I admire that Lord’s Frayer! So simple, 
so full, so beautiful! But there is one petition contained 
in this admirable prayer which I have never been able 
quite to understand.” 

“What is that?” 

“We entreat our Maker, ‘Lead us not into temptation.’ 
This seems strange to me. If I rightfully comprehend 
the conception of the Creator which has been formed, 
or rather, one may say, the nature of the revelation of 
himself that he has given to his poor children, it would 
seem to be quite impossible that he should engage in such 
an act as leading them into temptation which might open 
the door to sinful action. Leading into temptation is the 
same thing as tempting, and it must be difficult to believe 
that our Father will lay traps for us; that he will draw 
us along the way in which are pit-falls into which we may 
tumble. But, if he cannot, from his nature do this, why 
shall we pray that he will not do it? This is puzzling to a 
mind like mine, not long disciplined in the true faith.” 

“I think,” said Hamilton, “I can help you a little bit 
there. We get the Lord’s Frayer in the form of a transla- 
tion. I do not know the precise wording of the original 
Greek, but I have always thought that the meaning of the 
line to which you refer might perhaps be more accu- 
rately expressed if we should put the petition into this 


The Cobra Strikes 


j6i 

shape: Suffer us not, or Permit us not, to be led into 
temptation/' 

“Yes, yes; I see!" 

“The idea being, not that our Father may actively urge 
us toward temptation, but that, temptation being probably 
in our way, He will interpose to restrain us from going 
towards it." 

“That is, of course, that we may have the help of 
Divine power in our efforts to avoid or escape tempta- 
tion?" 

“Precisely. Many a man has not sinned certain sins 
because he has had no temptation of that particular kind. 
Now, in this prayer, we ask that we shall be delivered 
so far as may be possible from temptation of every kind." 

“It is really beautiful when that sense it put upon it. 
But how strange it is that we are not protected from 
temptation when there is certainty we shall fall; or, sup- 
pose I say that I have often been worried to reconcile 
the idea of the Father’s love for us with the fact that he 
does permit men to be tempted where they are weakest." 

The cashier’s mind had a flash of anguish in it, as he 
thought of his failure to resist temptation. But he 
answered: 

“Well, many of these things are deep mysteries which 
will not be solved in this world. It is, however, easy 
enough, I think, to perceive that resistance to tempta- 
tion makes a man’s moral nature stronger." 

“Yes," said the prince, “and so long as a man is a free 
agent and there are right and wrong, he must have power 
to choose whether he will accept right or wrong." 

“Of course. Were there no temptation to pursue an 
evil course — were men simply compelled to follow the 
way of righteousness, there could be no spiritual growth 
at all." 

“I am glad that I spoke to you about this matter," said 
the prince. “It has distressed me much, and you expla- 
nation does not a little to give me more comfortable feel- 


362 Captain Bluitt 

ings. Your kindness encourages me to speak to you 
about another matter of rather trifling importance which 
has given me some uneasiness. Not a great deal, for the 
way out of it is within plain sight in the early future, but 
momentary uneasiness. I have made great sacrifices for 
my degraded countrymen who are so dear to my heart, 
but I do it with joyfulness, feeling that the cause is a 
holy one and realizing, as I trust I do in the largest 
degree, the fact that sacrifice is, if I may employ the 
expression, the root-principle of our faith. But a ^ 
actual needs must be supplied. My estates in India will 
much more than supply mine, so narrow and simple; the 
surplus I throw into this splendid cause; but there must 
have been delay of a steamer, for my agent at home has 
not made a remittance I seriously require. I hate to ask 
it, but could you conveniently lend me ten dollars until, 
say, Wednesday?’^ 

This seemed to Hamilton an odd conclusion of his 
effort to remove from his visitor’s mind a difficulty about 
the Lord’s Prayer. For the first time the thought oc- 
curred to him that perhaps the prince was not a trust- 
worthy man. He made up his mind that he would not 
lend the money. 

‘T am indeed sorry,” he said, 'Very, very sorry, but 
you know I am a man of quite moderate income. I 
hardly see how I can meet your wishes.” 

"Only until Wednesday,” said the prince mith much 
suavity. 

"I fear I must ask you to excuse me. My salary is not 
due for two weeks to come, and I have hardly enough 
money in the house to meet my ordinary expenses. Have 
you tried Dr. Frobisher?” 

"Let me have twenty dollars, then,” said the prince in 
a gentle voice, ignoring the reference to the clergyman. 

Hamilton looked at him sharply, but at once leaped to 
the conclusion that his visitor had not understood him. 


The Cobra Strikes 363 

said I could not conveniently lend you ten dollars. 
Now you ask me for twenty.” 

You will lend me fifty, won’t you?” asked the prince 
as tenderly as if he were wooing a willing but rather stub- 
born woman. 

The blood came into Hamilton’s face: 

'‘No, sir; I won’t! Fifty nor ten! I do not understand 
your conduct, sir!” 

The prince looked at the floor. He seemed hurt. 
There were no signs of anger. For a moment there was 
silence. Then, turning his eyes upon Hamilton he said: 

“Yes you will.” 

Hamilton was scared. The flush upon his face was 
displaced by pallor. 

“No I won’t!” he said desperately. 

The Prince did not at once reply. He gazed at the 
picture over the fire-place. He slowly crossed his legs. 
He seized the ivory paper-knife upon the table and toyed 
with it. Then he said: 

“Flow is McCann’s Electric Motor going to turn out, 
do you think?” 

Hamilton’s face was ghastly-white. His lips trembled. 
He thought he should swoon. Like flashes of lightning 
there passed through his mind all the possibilities of pos- 
session of his secret by this man, suddenly become ter- 
rible. He could not, for a moment, command himself to 
answer. The prince saved him the eft’ort. 

“O come now, Hamilton,” said Bunder Foot, resting 
an elbow upon the table and twirling the paper-knife 
round and round with his fingers, as he smiled pleasantly 
at his victim. “I know all about it and there’s no harm 
done. Don’t look so scared, man! Fve been in that kind 
of thing myself. That Motor is a success. You’ve bought 
into a gold-mine. If my remittances should come I’d 
buy you out in a minute, at a premium, too. I like your 
nerve and your foresight. You’ll die rich. How much 
have you in the Motor?” 


j64 Captain Bluitt 

Hamilton did not reply. 

The prince appeared not to notice his silence. Look- 
ing again at the picture over the mantel he continued: 

“But a man who is going to be as rich as you are ought 
to help his friends when they are in trouble. I was never 
mean in that direction myself. You gave me enormous 
comfort a while ago about that odd line in the Lord’s 
Prayer; now I want you to lift me over this little money 
difficulty.” 

“I can’t do it,” said Hamilton. 

“I don’t want very much,” said the prince, as if he had 
not heard him. “Give me a thousand dollars to-morrow 
night at seven o’clock at your front-door and that will do 
for the present;” and the prince smiled upon Hamilton as 
if he loved him. 

“A thousand dollars! No! No! not that,” said Ham- 
ilton almost with a sob. 

“It grieves me to distress you,” said the prince with an 
air of soft affection, “but really I must have it. I should 
dislike more than I can tell you to have to go from your 
doorstep to-morrow night to call upon the President of 
the Bank.” 

“Give me time to think,” implored Hamilton, “and I 
will see what I can do.” 

“Yes, of course; time to think; you will need that. I 
shall be most sorry to press you. Take time to think; 
but have the money in your hand when I come to your 
door at seven o’clock precisely.” 

At that moment Dorothea entered the house and came 
into the room where her father sat witli Bunder. 

The Indian rose to greet her, gracious and courteous, 
as he always was. The girl saw that something was the 
matter with her father; and for an instant she was startled. 
Then she remembered that he had looked strangely more 
than once of late, and she felt reassured when Bunder 
said to her: 

“I have been giving Mr. Hamilton some account of 


The Cobra Strikes 


my life in Inciia. He was most kind and sympathetic. It 
is much to me, Miss Hamilton, an exile from my home, 
to have found so many dear Christian friends.” 

“I am sorry,” said Dorothea, “that my mother is un- 
able to see you.” 

“Ah! how much I regret it! How much I should like 
to meet her again! Believe me, one of the charms that 
religion has for me is that it produces these lovely Chris- 
tian households, where all is peace and affection and 
sympathy.” 

Bunder must take his leave. He bade good-bye to 
Miss Hamilton, looking at her, the father noticed, in a 
way that seemed to poor Hamilton to have all evil in it; 
then he went to the outer-door, and shaking Hamilton’s 
hand with almost affectionate heartiness, he said, in an 
undertone: 

“At seven, precisely.” 

“You do not seem well, dear father,” said Dorry when 
he returned to the room. She put her hand upon his 
shoulder. 

“Yes, I am perfectly well.” 

“Is anything worrying you father?” 

“No, my dear. Why do you ask that?” 

“You have not seemed quite like yourself lately. 
Mother has noticed it too.” 

“Mother? Noticed it?” 

He could hardly control himself while he spoke to her. 

“Father,” she said, “something is the matter! Did the 
Indian say or do anything that offended you?” 

“Not at all my child! Not at all. Of course not. I 
am quite well; only tired; and there were some worrying 
things at the bank to-day. Now go to bed my dear, and 
to sleep. You need not have a thought about me. It is 
all right.” 

He kissed her and bade her good-night, and she went 
up stairs with fear in her heart. She was not satisfied with 
the answers her father had given her. 


366 Captain Bluitt 

As she left the room Hamilton almost fell into the great 
arm-chair in front of the fire-place where the fire still 
flickered among the bits of wood. 

There was silence, upon the street, in the house, in the 
room. The clock upon the mantel seemed to tick thrice 
louder than usual. Sitting there, alone for the first time 
since this appalling revelation had been made to him, 
Hamilton tried to steady his mind that he might examine 
the situation. His senses were confused. His brain 
seemed to be actually whirling around. He must try to 
grasp at some one point in the matter to which he could 
hold with firmness so that he might consider with reason 
and sound judgment his line of action. This was difficult, 
so suddenly had the frightful condition in which he was 
placed been revealed to him. But at last, by a violent 
effort of his will, he controlled his panic-fear and managed 
to look the matter directly in the face. 

It became apparent to him as he reflected that one of 
four courses was open to him. He could murder Bunder 
Foot; he could commit suicide; he could run away; or he 
could give the money to the Hindu. 

His mind cleared as these alternatives presented them- 
selves to him. Actually, as he sat there in complete ob- 
liviousness of everything about him, it seemed to him that 
he could look inward upon his intellectual apparatus and 
perceive with perfect distinctness these four propositions 
ranging themselves in a kind of regular order. One of 
these things he must do. 

Then, as he looked, his mind suddenly swirled off again 
into a kind of convulsion and oddly the words came rush- 
ing in upon it as if a sluiceway had opened somewhere: 
“The way of transgressors is hard.’' He laughed in a 
dreadful manner as he remembered that he had once, less 
than a year ago, made this text the subject of a lesson for 
his Bible Class. He felt a strong impulse to seek for the 
little written outline of that lesson that he might recall 
just what his teaching had been. 


The Cobra Strikes 367 

He leaped from his chair, opened a desk and began to 
hunt for the lesson-paper with as much eagerness as if 
he had forgotten Bunder Foot and his troubles and as if 
success in the search would bring him some kind of 
solace. He found the paper and sat down with feelings of 
curiosity to examine it. The argument at once seemed 
perfectly familiar to him. He recalled the whole of it at 
a glance. 

I. Sin is likely to have no repulsive features until it 
has been committed. 2. Action is sowing; and reaping 
inevitably follows sowing. Evil action produces evil con- 
sequences. 3. Evil action is done in defiance of God’s 
law, which is supreme, and the doer of evil, working 
against God and the moral law, must suffer. 

This was all true, but how much more impressive could 
the lesson be made now. 

Then the thought flashed through his mind as if some 
missile had crashed into his brain, that he should have 
to teach that Bible Class next Sunday; and this blow, 
under which his mind reeled, was followed swiftly by 
another — next Sunday was communion Sunday: how 
could he hold himself up to go through with that cere- 
mony? 

Again his senses became half confused. But he tore up 
the lesson-paper, flung it into the fire-place and fell back- 
ward into the chair. Grasping the arms of the chair with 
rigid fingers, he drew himself into a silting posture and 
again forced his mind to resume orderly action. 

Murder, suicide, flight or another theft! There they 
stood! The four kinds of action from which he must 
make his choice. 

Consider flight first, because that is the least dreadful 
to look at. He might steal a huge sum and take it with 
him. For one thing, he felt perfectly certain that flight, 
followed as it must be by disclosure of his. crime, would 
kill his wife. So flight, upon the second glance, seemed 
to involve murder also, and murder of one whom he 


368 Captain Bluitt 

loved as much as a man can ever love a woman. Flight, 
if there be no return, meant that he should never see her 
again, even if she should live. That thought could not 
be endured either. But all men who have run away under 
such conditions have been brought back again. He 
would be caught, tried and imprisoned; and his wife dead! 
And Dorry! He had not thought of Dorothea! She 
would be covered with shame, her life would be spoiled 
and the girl would hate her father. Dorry, of whom he 
was so proud and whom he loved so much. His memory 
then ran swiftly back to the time when the child was just 
coming out of infancy and to the joy the father had had 
in that very room, sitting in that very chair, playing with 
her! The horrors that lay in the choice of flight could 
not be endured even in contemplation. No; he turned 
away from that. 

Murder? He would not give that any consideration. 
Detection would be certain; but he knew, from what he 
suffered now, that he could not live with such a crime 
upon his soul. He would put the thought of murder 
aside, lest the temptation should grow upon him and 
overmaster him. He even feared to let go the control he 
now held upon his thought, lest some Satanic power 
should sweep him away into a wild frenzy in which he 
would be irresistibly driven to bloodshed. No! What- 
ever else he should do, not murder! 

Suicide? That was so easy; that was the short way out! 
His mind began to track the way down the street to the 
river, only a few hundred yards. He could end it all in 
ten minutes. And there was a quick method, right here 
in his own house. If he lived there could be nothing 
ahead of him but gloom, disgrace and sorrow. Yes, in 
that very Bible-lesson he had just recalled, one of his 
greatest points was that a deed once done was forever 
done. There can be no retreat. Why had he not con- 
sidered that when he took the money from the bank? It 
seemed to him now strange that he should ever have dis- 


The Cobra Strikes 


369 

covered any force in the temptation to take it. But the 
thing was done and the consequences lay directly before 
him, the consequences now become so dreadful; and a 
plunge into the river would end it all. He thought he 
could almost hear the swash of the water against the 
steamboat pier at the end of the street. Dead within ten 
minutes! 

But what then? There was the old question, old as the 
weary heart and tired soul of man; old as life itself! He 
dared not face that question now. He believed the truths 
of religion. He had often tried to be a Christian. He 
had really thought himself a follower of Christ. That hope 
in his heart was even now not dead. For him, wicked as 
he was, even for him, there might be, in some far-off day 
in some far-off world, forgiveness. The tears flooded his 
lids as the thought came to him. But suicide would close 
that door forever. To die by his own sin; to sin in the 
very act of dying — no; mercy could not reach the soul 
so stained. Besides, what would his wife and his girl 
think of suicide?” 

There was but one other alternative. It was no harder 
to take one thousand than to take five thousand. One 
thousand more would not matter very much. And then 
(he actually had a feeling of exultant happiness as the 
thought came to him), “McCann’s device will succeed; I 
shall be rich; I can put it all back again and no man but 
the Hindu will ever know it. When I put it back I can 
defy him.” But, as he remembered that the earnings 
from the Motor could not soon be gathered, he began 
suddenly to consider if he could not borrow the money 
already stolen and repay the bank at once and thus put 
the Hindu at defiance. He thought of Captain Bluitt, of 
Dr. Quelch, of three or four other men of means whom 
he knew; and then he reflected that it would be impossible 
to obtain so large an amount of money from any of these 
men without security and he had no security to give. 

To meet the demand of Bunder Foot seemed, then, the 


24 


370 Captain Bluitt ' 

only way in which he could go. But this, he said to him- 
self, is only the first demand. He will want more money, 
and more and more. Then his thought slipped off again 
and as the smiling face of the Hindu came up before his 
imagination, he recalled all he had ever heard of the 
subtle villainy of the East; of poisoners and magicians; i 
of the genii of the Arabian nights; of charmed serpents | 
and hideous religious rites; of things mysterious and ter- i 
rible; and it seemed to him that it must have been some ; 
awful Spiritual power of Evil, — the Prince of the Power ‘ 
of the Air— that had shot-down this being from the dread- 
ful Orient into the little American town and infused its ; 
prosy and commonplace life with the very atmosphere of 
Hell! 

As he sat before the dying fire considering the matter, 
the thought suddenly came to him: Why not give to the 
Indian to-morrow night the eight hundred dollars held in 
trust for Saul Tarsel? That sum would not meet the 
whole of the demand made by Bunder, but it might sat- 
isfy him for a time, and meanwhile perhaps some plan 
may be devised for defeating any further attempts to ex- 
tort money. 

*‘Saul does not need the trust-fund at once. No harm 
will be done to him by using it. Repayment can be made 
at any moment. Yes, to give the negro’s money to that 
devil from the East — that is the road to safety, for the 
present at least.” 

And so Hamilon went to bed, weary, wretched, for- 
lorn; to sleep, but to wake again and again in the night to 
greet the horror that had come into his life, and which 
seemed even more dreadful in the silent and lonely hours 
than it had done when first it was presented to him. 

Bunder-Podt Singh came to the door while the town- 
clock was striking seven, and John Hamilton had his 
hand upon the latch, so that he might be the first to greet 
the unwelcome visitor. He thrust the notes upon Bunder 
Poot and whispered : 


The Cobra Strikes 371 

“There are eight hundred. I could not get more to- 
day. Take eight hundred and be satisfied.” 

The Indian laughed quietly. 

“Satisfied? Yes, for to-night. But I shall want one 
thousand more one week from to-night. Have it here or 
take the consequences.’^ 

The sweat stood upon Hamilton’s forehead as he closed 
the door. He tarried for a moment in the hall that he 
might compose himself. 

“Who was it, father?” asked Dorothea, as he returned 
to the library. 

“Only a beggar,” he said. 

It was a part of the arrangement made by Destiny that 
John Hamilton should not make a second payment to the 
Man from India. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


Suffering and Bliss 

C APTAIN BLUITT returned to his home in 
Turley at the end of the week in which Bunder 
Foot Singh had succeeded in getting complete 
mastery of John Hamilton. The captain had 
not yet seen the Indian, but he had heard much about 
him from Mrs. Burns’s letters, and from Miss Puella, 
who had more to tell of the eloquence of the visitor, of 
his personal graces and of his astonishing popularity, 
when she had greeted her brother and welcomed him to 
his own house. Captain Bluitt’s curiosity was awakened, 
but his interest, after all, was not very great and he would 
not seek to encounter the distinguished visitor. Bunder 
Foot would make a long-promised address in the Presby- 
terian Church on the following Tuesday evening, and 
Captain Bluitt thought to attend the meeting and to enjoy 
the oratory that had earned so large a measure of praise. 

On Saturday morning Captain Bluitt walked about his 
grounds to observe if Rufus, amid the excitements of the 
political campaign, had been attentive to his duties at 
home. Going to the stable in search of Rufus, he found 
Saul Tarsel engaged in caring for the horses, while Rufus 
was nowhere about. The captain at first was angry, for 
he jumped at the conclusion that his hired man had 
already found politics more interesting and important 
than his ordinary wage-earning work. 

‘Ts that you Saul? Where is Rufus?” asked the cap- 
tain. 

"‘Good mawnin’ Mars. Bluitt! Rufus, suh! Rufus he’s 
done tuk sick. Rufus has de hyderphobia.” 

(372) 


Suffering and Bliss 

''The hydrophobia? Rufus? Nonsense, Saul!’' 

"Dat’s de werry gospel truf, Mars. Bluitt. Dish yer 
dog of Mars. Robinson done bit a piece outen him.” 

"When did this happen, Saul?” asked the captain. 

"Yesterday, suh. In de evening’.” 

"Did he send for the doctor?” 

"Not fo’ dockker Quelch, suh. I done ’dvise Miss 
Pottah to send fo’ Ephr’m Slocum.” 

"What does Ephraim know about hydrophobia?” 

"I dunno Mars. Bluitt dat he’s close acquainted wid de 
hyderphobia; but he’s jes good at pow-wowin any o’ dem 
miseries.” 

"Pow-wowing! You don’t believe in that kind of thing, 
Saul, do you?” 

"Yes, suh, mos’ sholy. None o’ dese white positions 
’round yer, like Dockker Quelch, nebber did me no good 
fo’ my rheumatiz. Dey ain’ no med’cine fo’ dat misery. 
When I has de pain I sen’ fo’ Ephr’m an’ he pow-wows it. 
He does white-washin’ too. I doan’ ’mire his white- 
washin’, but he’s sholy got de inside holt on pow-wowin’. 
Las’ Chewsday two weeks when I was a layin’ doubled 
up wid de rheumatiz so’s I coulden’ git- offen de flo’ 
Ephr’m come ’roun’ an’ done de pow-wow, an’ de nex’ 
mawnin’ I’se jes as limber as an eel.” 

"What did he do?” 

"I dunno, Marse; jes kep’ a wavin’ his ban’s ober de 
place an’ sayin’ conjurin’ words. I dunno ’em; jes con- 
jurin’, unner his bref. De wavin’ o’ de ban’s won’t do it 
widout de conjurin’, an’ mebbe de conjurin’ won’t do it 
widout de ban’s. Ephr’m’s got it right. It’s a gif’. 
Sperits in it, I spec’s. Some mons’ous cur’ous tings in 
dish yer worl’ Mars. Bluitt!” 

"Maybe it was the Devil?” 

" ’Pears to me, Mars. Bluitt, when I has de misery 
bad dat de debbil has sumpin to do wid dat! Ain’ come 
from hebben, sholy! Werry well, den, ef it’s de debbil 
dat comes ’long o’ Ephr’m to tek ’way he’s own rheuma- 


?74 


Captain Bluitt 

tiz, I ain* got no quarrel wid him; an’ ef it’s de good 
sperits dat ’nables Ephr’im to drive to drive de debbil out, 
what’s de use o’ ’fusin’ to let him? Anyways, Mars. 
Bluitt, you beat de debbil at his own game. I’se a ’ligious 
man, but when I’se full o’ misery, I’se gwine to ’cept de 
fus position dat’ll come ’long an’ cure me, wedder he has 
a tail to wag or wings to flap. Dat’s de way I’se a feelin’.” 

Captain Bluitt walked over to the house where Rufus 
lived. Mrs. Potter was up stairs waiting upon the sick 
man. 

“Run up and tell your mother that I want to see her,” 
said the captain to one of the children. 

Mrs. Potter came down with her apron to her eyes, 
which were red with crying. 

“What is the matter, Hannah?” asked the captain. 

“O dear good Cap’n Bluitt, terrible things are the 
matter! I am so glad you have come that loves Rufus 
so dearly and has done so much for us all. And to think 
Cap’n Bluitt that that good and faithful Rufus who never 
hurt a worm and was so kind and loving and had just 
started out upon a career in public life which as like as 
not would have led upward to glory and to the unspeak- 
able advantage of our country should have been bit by a 
savage dog and hurled into madness which will wreck 
his whole career of usefulness unless the horrible delirium 
from which he suffers can be at an early moment abated.” 

“Bitten by a dog, was he?” 

“By a furious savage dog, wild with the ferocity of 
madness; bitten by that merciless animal; bitten in the 
leg; bitten and torn.” 

“How did this happen?” 

“Why, only last night Rufus was tranquilly returning 
home from the first meeting of the new School Board, 
where he had gone in response to the call of duty and 
where as time rolled by and he stood firm at the post in 
which his appreciative fellow citizens had placed him that 
he might guide the feet of children in the ways of learn- 


Suffering and Bliss 375 

ing, he had been appointed by the caucus to membership 
on the Committee on Advanced Education. He had just 
reached Mr. Robinson’s gate when this desperate wild 
animal rushed out at him without the slightest provoca- 
tion animated by an insatiable thirst for blood.” 

“Did Rufus run?” 

“Not at first, Cap’n Bluitt, because it is not in the 
nature of Rufus to fly from deadly peril, and now that 
he has been advanced to high official station both of us 
felt that it would not be becoming for him to show craven 
fear in such an emergency as this. As soon therefore 
as the wild beast dashed towards him Rufus boldly stood 
his ground and strenuously endeavored to hold the animal 
with his eye; but either it was too dark, or the infuriated 
dog was blind with rage, or something or other, I know 
not what, for the maddened brute would not be stayed 
by Rufus’s gaze and when Rufus perceived this and seen 
that no human power could stay the onset of the dog, 
Rufus very properly we all think, and without in any 
degree sacrificing his official dignity, endeavored to scale 
our fence, whereupon the beast leaped upon him and 
buried its poisonous fangs deep in his leg.” 

“How do you know that the dog is mad?” 

“Know it Cap’n Bluitt? How do we know it? We 
know it by many and various signs and tokens which 
infallibly prove that the dog is raging, tearing crazy. 
When Rufus first got into the house after this hideous 
catastrophe he did not seem to be injured in an alarming 
manner. He bore himself like a hero as he always does, 
though he could with difficulty restrain a tear. I tore 
his garments from his leg and staunched the blood and 
bound the mutilated limb and put him to bed, and all 
through the long weary hours of the night he slept peace- 
fully as a little child. But this very morning while I was 
pouring water into the wash-basin when I first got up, 
Rufus awakened and said to me “Is that water, Han?’ 
Wes,’ I said; whereupon he fell into convulsions and 


j 76 Captain Bluitt 

began to bark and bark and bark in a manner that excited 
consternation in my bosom and in those of our dear 
children.’" 

“Well?” 

“Well, then, Cap’n Bluitt, I started for the doctor, when 
I met Saul Tarsel, and he advised me to seek for Ephraim 
Slocum to come to pow-wow Rufus, because the negro 
said pow-wowing is always better than doctoring, and as 
I was wild with distraction I didn’t know what else to 
do, though I am not a perfectly firm believer in this 
mysterious method of dealing with disease, because it 
seems to me to contain elements of wickedness, and how 
an ignorant black person like old Slocum can reach the 
seat of the dreadful malady by conjuring and waving his 
hands is completely beyond my reach.” 

At that moment sounds resembling the barking of a 
dog came down from the room above, with the noise of 
shuffling feet. 

“Hear that, Cap’n Bluitt? That’s Rufus! He’s been 
manifesting these heart-rending symptoms for three or 
four hours, and Ephraim is up there now pow-wowing 
him and four of Rufus’s colleagues on the School Board 
are holding him down with firmness and the exercise of 
mere muscular strength lest in the fury of his convul- 
sions he should leap to destruction through the window 
nearest the bed.” 

“Tell Saul I want him,” said Captain Bluitt. 

“Saul,” said the captain to the negro, when he ap- 
peared, “saddle a horse and ride over quickly to Dr. 
Quelch’s and tell him to come here. Now, Hannah, let’s 
see the sick man.” 

When Captain Bluitt entered the room where Rufus 
lay, he saw the sick man extended upon the bed, with his 
face upward, while each outstretched limb was held by a 
man who anxiously watched the countenance of the suf- 
ferer so that the next paroxysm might be prepared for. 
Upon the further side of the bed stood an aged negro 


Suffering and Bliss 377 

with a bald head fringed with white wool and with heavy 
brass-rimmed spectacles lifted from his nose to the top 
of his wrinkled forehead. 

The negro had his eyes closed and his face turned 
slightly upward, and while he waved his hands to and 
fro and crossed them, and touched his thumbs, he mut- 
tered strange words which none of his hearers could un- 
derstand. It was plain enough that Ephraim Slocum was 
in earnest, and that if indeed all the resources of the 
science of pow-wowing were at his command and if pow- 
wowing would indeed overcome the malignant forces of 
hydrophobia, the recovery of Rufus might be looked for 
with cheerful confidence. 

^‘He is tranquil now,” said Hannah in a whisper to 
Captain Bluitt, “but no human foresight can tell at what 
moment he may break out again. The sight or sound of 
water impels him to become a mere maniac.” 

Captain Bluitt looked at the sick man and the helpers 
and the pow-wower for a moment; then, stepping over 
to the wash-stand, he poured out some water. When 
Rufus heard it, he began to writhe and jump and to bark 
and to gnash his teeth in the most alarming manner. 

“Singular, very singular indeed,” said the captain, as 
he observed the performance. “I have often heard of 
water having that effect, but I never believed it.” 

He turned to go down stairs and Mrs. Potter followed 
him. 

“I will wait here for Dr. Quelch, Hannah. I am really 
anxious about Rufus.” 

“O, Cap'n Bluitt,” said Mrs. Potter, “do you truly be- 
lieve that his life is in peril and that a cruel fate will tear 
him from the arms of his wife and loving children and 
from his new sphere of usefulness?” 

“I can’t tell,” said the captain. “I never saw a case 
just like it before. Dr. Quelch will know.” 

“The trouble about Rufus,” said Mrs. Potter, taking 
her seat upon the chair near to the staircase, and folding 


jyS Captain Bluitt 

her hands upon her lap, *‘has always been his wonderful 
sensitiveness to impressions. He could never read about 
any form of disease in the medical advertisements in the 
papers but he always thought he had it. Many’s and 
many’s the tirne he has said to me, ‘Han, I feel queer 
here or I feel queer there,’ and when I urged upon him 
to describe to me his symptoms and soon afterward I 
picked up the paper he had been reading, there was them 
very identical same symptoms in some horrid patent 
medicine advertisement. There’s bottles on bottles and 
literally no end of them in the cellar half full of patent 
medicines upon which Rufus, who always means well, 
has squandered our substance under the vain illusion that 
his liver or his eyes or some portion of his system was 
assailed by perilous illness. It cost him four dollars and 
thirty-seven cents for medicine that he bought for astig- 
matism which he misunderstood when he read about it 
was an affliction of some kind appertaining to the lungs, 
and he did not understand the truth that it is relating to 
the eyes until he had taken two bottles and part of the 
third of the medicine which was intended for asthma. I 
often told Rufus that it was foolish for him to be so 
strongly influenced by what the newspapers said, but 
he—” 

Dr. Quelch interrupted Mrs. Potter’s remarks by 
knocking upon the door. 

When he was admitted he greeted the captain and Mrs. 
Potter, and asked what was the matter. 

Captain Bluitt thought he might be able to present the 
facts of the situation more succinctly than Mrs. Potter 
could, and he did so. 

“Let us see the patient,” said Dr. Quelch. 

Dr. Quelch smiled as he entered the sick room and saw 
the four sympathetic and muscular members of the 
School Board with Ephraim Slocum still muttering and 
waving his hands. 

That the physician might see the case in its most 


379 


Suffering and Bliss 

alarming aspects, Captain Bluitt again poured out some 
water, and again the delegation from the School Board 
with difficulty restrained Rufus from plunging upon the 
floor. 

Dr. Quelch went over to the bedside and took hold of 
the wrist of the patient, while Ephraim suspended his in- 
cantations and looked out of the window. 

‘‘Is he very ill, doctor ?’" asked Captain Bluitt. 

“Not very,'’ responded the physician. “Mrs. Potter, 
have you a poker in the kitchen?” The patient was now 
quiet. He heard the conversation. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Well, Mrs. Potter, take that poker and put it into the 
fire until it is nearly as possible white-hot. Then have 
these gentlemen remove Rufus’s clothes and turn him 
face downward upon the bed. Then, I should like to have 
Captain Bluitt take the heated point of the poker and 
start at the nape of Rufus’s neck and draw it right along 
his back to the end of his spine. Bear on as hard as you 
can. Captain. I will call to-morrow to see how the 
patient is.” 

Dr. Quelch went down stairs with Captain Bluitt, who 
seemed anxious. 

“Do you actually want me to burn that man’s back, 
doctor?” asked the captain. 

“Try it,” answered the physician, smiling, “and see 
how it works. “Captain Bluitt,” he added, as he got into 
his buggy, “I have been practicing medicine for nearly 
sixty years, and never yet have I seen a case of hydro- 
phobia.” 

The next morning Dr. Quelch drove up to Captain 
Bluitt’s gate, hitched his horse and walked around the 
house toward the home of Rufus. As he did so he saw 
the patient of yesterday busy with hammer and saw re- 
pairing the trellis on which the grape-vines were trained. 

“How are you feeling this morning Rufus?” 

Rufus stopped work and looked around and said: 


jSo Captain Bluitt 

“I’m nearly well, I think, doctor. There is some little 
pain yet in yer,” and he touched his forehead, “but mostly 
I’m feelin’ good.” 

“The attack passed right off, did it?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Without the burning with the poker?” 

“Yes, sir; they didn’t have to use it.” 

“What cured you, do you think?” 

“Well now. Dr. Quelch, it would be ongracious for me 
to say so to you, mebbe, but do you know doctor I really 
believe old Slocum’s pow-wowin’ brought me to.” 

Dr. Quelch laughed and said good-bye and drove off 
to visit another patient. 

But Captain Bluitt’s faith in incantations, rudely shaken 
by the complete failure of his own venture into the rites 
of haruspication, was completely overturned when he per- 
ceived in what manner the venerable Slocum conducted 
his ceremonies, and how the strong good sense of Dr. 
Quelch had won the victory with Rufus. 

Captain Bluitt could not forbear, when he called that 
same evening upon Florabella Burns, to relate the cir- 
cumstances connected with Rufus’s attack of hydro- 
phobia; and when the adorable Florabella laughed 
heartily as her visitor described the Seer Ephraim’s 
methods of conjuration, the captain’s mind reverted to 
the experiment he himself had made in the wood-shed 
with the consecrated chicken, and he resolved to remind 
Puella, as soon as he should return home, positively to 
say nothing to Florabella or to anybody of his explora- 
tion of the mysteries of haruspication. 

Mrs. Burns was in high spirits, and full of good talk, 
and she seemed really glad to have Captain Bluitt for a 
listener. He was a near neighbor and he had been a 
good friend. He had managed much of her business for 
her during her absence, and had made some good invest- 
ments for her when she had been at home; and Florabella, 
lonely and not practiced in financial matters, had come 


Suffering and Bliss j8i 

to lean on him and to regard him as a wise counsellor. 

There was now a new bond of sympathy for them in 
her love and pity for Dorothea Hamilton and in his 
strong affection and admiration for Walter. 

''You and I must do something, Captain Bluitt,” she 
said, "to arrange this matter. Dorry is fairly pining away 
because she is separated from Walter, and no doubt he 
is heart-broken for her. How perfectly senseless it is for 
her father to keep them apart.” 

"She could not have a better husband.” 

"No, and he will marry her sooner or later. Her father 
is giving her useless misery. I have a strong notion to 
advise them to run away.” 

"Run away where?” 

"Why, here, if nowhere else. They can be married in 
my house; and then he will have to forgive her; and that 
will be the end of it.” 

"I don’t know,” said the captain, "I don’t much like 
that kind of a marriage; but, if the worst comes to the 
worst, — if John Hamilton stays stupid and stubborn, 
maybe that will be the right way out of the difficulty.” 

"Have you heard from Walter lately?” 

"Not a word; he knows that I have been away from 
home, and very likely thinks I have not returned.” 

"Dorry has heard nothing, either. I should think he 
would at least write to me that I might carry some mes- 
sage to her. Do you know, Captain Bluitt, that I have 
some suspicions?” 

"Of whom?” 

"I am half afraid to breathe them, for if they were un- 
just I should feel so mean; but — ” 

"You think maybe Walter has written to her?” 

"Wouldn’t you think so? Is it like him to stop even 
writing to her? He can’t go to her house; but no letters!” 

"He must have written, of course.” 

"Of course, and where are those letters? Dorry has 
never received them.” 


j 82 Captain Bluitt 

“You believe John has pocketed them?’* 

“Well, it is just horrid to think of such a thjng; but 
letter after letter wouldn’t go astray in the mail.” 

“And then Walter stopped writing because he got no 
answers?” 

“Precisely; and the poor girl is foolish enough not to 
write first because her father said she shouldn t. I am 
going to write to Walter to ask him about it. You and I 
must look after these two creatures with the aching 
hearts.” 

Captain Bluitt’s countenance plainly indicated that a 
co-operative effort with Mrs. Burns would be far from 
displeasing to him. 

“I’ll write to him, too; or ask him to run down here 
to see us.” 

“Very well; and Dorry can meet him here and a few 
tears and kisses will blot out the hideous past and bring 
bliss back again.” 

“Captain Bluitt looked grave; but in fact his mind was 
strongly stimulated by this talk from the lips of the hand- 
some Florabella about kisses and bliss. 

“How pleasant it is, Mrs. Burns, to see two young 
people fondly attached to each other as they are and 
longing — literally longing — for each other’s company?” 

“Delightful.” 

“It always seemed to me,” continued the captain, “that 
things are arranged beforehand that certain men and 
women are so created that mate is drawn to mate by 
some mysterious attraction.” 

“Many people think so,” said Mrs. Burns, reflectively. 

“And I said to Walter, the very day he met Dorry 
Hamilton, that he would know his heart’s delight the 
moment he saw her, and she would know him. The very 
day it happened. Singular, wasn’t it?” 

“Very! It is affinity — soul responding to soul. And 
yet,” observed Florabella, “many persons are mistaken 
about it.’’ 


Suffering and Bliss 

“Misfits!” said the captain. “I said so to Walter. But 
the reason is, they go off and get married in a hurry with- 
out waiting for the right one — the real one — the real 
mate — to come.” 

“That is just it,” said Mrs. Burns. 

“I determined long ago,” remarked the captain, “never 
to make that mistake, and as no responsive soul ever met 
mine in my youth, I have waited long and patiently — not 
so very patiently, but as patiently as I could.” 

“Perhaps you will meet her yet,” suggested Mrs. 
Burns, looking at the sofa-cushion, as her fingers played 
with the tassel. 

“Ah, I hope so! I hope so!” said Captain Bluitt, with 
half a sigh. “Do you know that when I saw Walter and 
Dorry go sailing off in my boat last summer, with a full 
cargo of love stowed in the craft, I couldn’t help saying to 
myself: — I wish I were in his place, or in such a place, 
or words to that general effect.” 

“I was standing at the head of the steps when they 
returned to the landing, and I confess I could hardly 
avoid some feelings of envy.” 

Captain Bluitt glanced at her and colored, and rose 
and pretended to adjust the window-blind and coughed 
and resumed his seat. 

“One of the most terrible things in the world for a 
man — I don’t know of course how it is with a woman — 
is to be lonely. I have been lonely all my life for the 
reason I have given you; and now I suppose no fine 
woman would consent to accept such a weather-beaten 
old hulk of a sailor as I am.” 

Mrs. Burns seemed reluctant to express an opinion of 
the reasonableness or unreasonableness of this conjec- 
ture; but Captain Bluitt thought he discerned in her coun- 
tenance a trace of sympathetic feeling. He became 
bolder: 

“But my heart is not weather-beaten,” he said. “It 
yearns for affection ; affection from a kindred soul ; and I 


j84 Captain Bluitt 

think I know where there is one. I think so; I may be 
mistaken, but I hope Fm not. I wish I could be certain 
it is yours, dear Florabella.” 

The color came into Mrs. Burns’s handsome face. She 
had guessed that the captain liked her,^ but she had not 
expected courtship so summary. Hesitating for a mo- 
ment, she said: 

“It is so difficult to be certain, but — ” 

“But you care for me, don’t you?” asked the -captain. 
“You are sure that you care for me a great deal?” 

“I have always liked you very much, and you have 
been so kind to me,” she said. 

“ Tike’ is such a cold word,” remarked the captain. 
“I love you dearly and I would be filled with joy if you 
could love me. Can’t you do that?” 

“I think I can,” answered Mrs. Burns, shyly; but she 
looked at him and smiled. 

Captain Bluitt took her hand. 

“You can, and you will, and you do?” he asked. 

“Yes,” she said; “you are very dear to me.” 

“You will be my wife?” he inquired, tenderly, still hold- 
ing her hand. 

“Yes, I will.”^ 

“And may I kiss you?” 

She did not answer him ; but words were useless. 

“I will go home a happy man,” he said, “and I will 
make you happy too.” 

“We will be happy with each other,” she answered. 

Perfect bliss reigned. Then, for a moment or two 
Captain Bluitt became thoughtful; and at last he said: 

“What will you call me, Florabella?” 

“Ypu have some thought about it, dear?” she said. 

“Well, Florabella, my first name you know is Elijah. 
Why on earth my parents, who were sensible people, ever 
fitted me out with such a name, I can’t imagine. But 
there it is. Now, Elijah hardly lends itself to the lan- 
guage of endearment, and if you try to shorten it, say to 


Suffering and Bliss 385 

Lije, it is hideous. I can’t imagine what you will do about 

(( ^ ^ start life again with a new name.” 

“ni call you ‘dear,’ or ‘dearest,’ or ‘darling,’ except 
when we are in company and then I’ll just call you Cap- 
tain.” 

Captain Bluitt thought this would be fine; and he kissed 
her again and had a strong impression that he had never 
seen a much handsomer woman. 

“I am so glad I came here to-night,” he said. “I hadn’t 
quite called up courage enough to speak to you, and I 
hardly thought I should do it; but we just sort of drifted 
into it. How fortunate it was.” 

“Very!” said Mrs. Burns. 

“Yes, you and I will now go through life the rest of 
the way together; meum et tuum, as the Romans always 
said; me and you.” 

Hand in hand,” said Florabella. 

“And your initials will remain the same; B is for Bluitt, 
as well as for Burns.” 

Florabella laughed. 

“I shall not have to re-mark my linen and my silver.” 

“Can’t we be married when Walter and Dorry are mar- 
ried?” asked the captain. 

“What a perfectly delightful idea,” exclaimed Mrs. 
Burns. 

“And soon?” urged the captain. 

“Whenever we can bring them together and arrange 
their wedding I will be ready,” answered Florabella. She 
was a woman who never failed in prompt action. 

It is positively painful to turn from such a scene of un- 
mixed felicity to another which had been prepared by 
grim Fate so that a loving heart might be wrung with 
anguish. 

While ecstasy was finding its home in the front parlor 
of Florabella Burns, Lochinvar Frobisher began the 
journey homeward with Dorothea Hamilton when the 
choir-rehearsal had ended. The young man had resolved 

25 


j86 Captain Bluitt 

that the time for him to speak had come, and in desperate 
disregard of the diminutive dimensions of his salary and 
with some faint hope that larger revenue might drift in 
somehow or other from his mother’s interests in the es- 
tates of the Metcalfs of Aramingo, he said to himself that 
he would avow his love upon that very night on the way 
from the church to the Hamilton house. 

Dorothea would not take his proffered arm, as the pair 
left the church building, and that seemed discouraging; 
but Lochinvar had a manful purpose not to be discour- 
aged. 

“Dorry,” he said, for he had known her long, ‘^you 
and I have been thrown together a good deal, for several 
years, and have almost, as it were, grown up in each 
other’s society.” 

“Yes,” she said, and dread came into her soul. 

“I always thought you liked me a little bit, and I am 
sure I have liked you ever since I knew you. But Dorry, 
we are now man and woman, and I find that I have 
another feeling for you. Dorry, I love you.” 

“O no, no! do not say that!” she exclaimed almost with 
a sob, and she quickened her steps. 

“Yes, but I must say it,” he answered. 

“Not now! Not now!” she implored him. 

“I have no other opportunity. I know I should try 
to find a better one, but I can’t. I love you. Is there any 
hope that you will love me?” 

“No, no, it cannot be! O do not say anything more! 
I am very, very unhappy!” 

“It would give me deep pain to make you unhappy, but 
surely you will not refuse to answer me! I shall suffer 
anguish if you cannot return my love. I beg you to try 
to love me! I cannot offer you much. I am a poor man; 
but I will work and strive and suffer for you if you love 
me; and my family will stand by me and help me. Is 
there any hope?” 

“No,” she said. “I am most sorry; very, very sorry. 


Suffering and Bliss 387 

I never dreamed that you cared for me. It is dreadful to 
give you pain. I can never care for you but as a friend.’' 

‘‘It is terrible to hear you say so,” said the unhappy 
young man. “Perhaps after a while — ^perhaps the time 
will come when — ?” 

“It cannot be,” she said. “Do not, O do not cherish 
any such hope! And now,” she said as they came near 
to her home, “good-bye! You must never speak to me 
again upon this subject, and you must forgive me if I 
have grieved you. I did not wish to do so. Forgive me, 
and good-bye!” 

He took her hand and kissed it, and she, entering the 
house, hurried upstairs to her room and began again to 
weep, and to think of Walter and her own desolation. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


Captain Bluitt Behaves in a Surprising Manner 

T he address made in the Presbyterian Church by 
Bunder Foot Singh when he first visited Turley 
had given such fame to his eloquence, and 
curiosity about him and interest in him had now 
become so great, that the building was thronged on the 
Tuesday night when he was to speak again at length 
upon the subject of his mission. 

Mrs. Frobisher had another delightful talk with him 
about India and his ancestors and his ancestral home 
after the early dinner that preceded the meeting and, 
filled with the charm of his conversation, she took her 
place in the pastor’s pew with two women-friends who 
had driven in from the country upon her invitation to 
hear the distinguished stranger. 

Mrs. Frobisher nestled down at the farther end of the 
pew with a comfortable feeling that a minister’s wife does 
indeed have some privileges; and she was conscious of a 
sense of superiority to the persons about her who perhaps 
had met the prince at social gatherings, but who knew 
nothing of the delight of the prolonged and uninterrupted 
conversation in which the nobleman appeared to reveal 
his finer feelings. 

She remembered with what emotion she had heard him 
speak in that church when first he appeared upon the 
platform, and she anticipated with keen pleasure another 
opportunity to enjoy his eloquence. 

The church was really crowded. The pews and parts of 
the aisles and the spaces in the choir and about the 
organ were filled. Dr. Frobisher, as he came from his 
(388) 


Captain Bluitt Sensational 389 

Study-door upon the platform to find m the Bible upon 
the desk the chapter he wished to read, felt as he glanced 
at the congregation that he would have much greater en- 
couragement in his ministry if half so many people would 
come to the church to worship and to hear him preach on 
Sundays. 

Returning to the study, the pastor in a moment came 
again upon the platform with the prince. Bunder Foot, 
modestly and almost with an appearance of shyness, sat 
upon one of the three chairs behind the desk or pulpit. 

Surely he was a handsome man. His dress was rather 
sombre; — brown stuff, with loose-flowing trousers, with 
a blue sash at the waist and a white turban, in which was 
no jewel. Mrs. Frobisher wondered why he had not worn 
tlie great ruby this evening and she felt sorry for her 
friends from the country, to whom she had described the 
stone and to whom now she whispered a word of regret. 

The meeting began with a brief prayer by Dr. Fro- 
bisher, after which a hymn was sung, the congregation 
joining with the choir in the singing with so much vigor 
as to impart to the worthy minister another pang as he 
thought of the coldness of the congregation with respect 
to the singing at the Sabbath services. 

Then the pastor read a chapter from Isaiah, and closing 
the book, said: 

“Will our brother now lead us in prayer?” 

Bunder Foot rose and came forward to the edge of the 
platform and, resting his left hand upon the side of the 
pulpit, lifted his right hand as a signal for the congrega- 
tion to bow their heads. 

He began in a low voice, every note of which was 
musical and full of solemnity. 

Fartly because of the strong entreaty of Fuella, partly 
from curiosity. Captain Bluitt had consented to attend 
this meeting. But, just as he was ready to leave home, 
a visitor who came to see him upon some small matter 
of business detained him for a few moments, and Fuella 


J90 Captain Bluitt 

had gone without him, promising to reserve for him a 
seat in his own pew. 

The captain did not tarry for a long time, but when he 
reached the outer door of the church, just as Bunder Foot 
had begun to pray, the crowd in the vestibule was so 
dense that he found difficulty in pushing through it. 

While he was engaged in finding his way to the inner 
door he could hear the melodious voice of the Indian, and 
when he entered the room he saw the figure upon the 
platform; but the distance was too great, or the light was 
too dim, to permit him to discern the features of the man. 

Captain Bluitt walked softly up the aisle, he alone of 
all the hundreds of persons present with his eyes wide 
open. The Indian himself had closed his eyes while he 
poured out his petition before the listeners, whose heads 
were bowed upon the backs of the pews. 

As Captain Bluitt came nearer to the speaker the cap- 
tain suddenly was conscious that the face of the Indian 
was familiar to him. Before he could think about it, 
something like an electric shock ran through his nerves, 
and he stopped and put his hand upon the top of the pew 
beside him. 

All about him women were sobbing as the voice and 
the words of the speaker became more and more highly 
charged with feeling. 

When Captain Bluitt stopped, Bunder Foot opened his 
eyes and saw him. The Indian half-completed the sen- 
tence upon his lips; then he paused, stammered, looked 
about him for half a second as if to discover the easiest 
way to escape, and then turned and fled through the door- 
way into the pastor’s study. 

“Hey there! Stop him! Seize him! Don’t let him 
get away!” shouted Captain Bluitt. 

And the captain dashed up to the end of the aisle, over- 
turning two chairs, seriously threatening the equilibrium 
of Major Gridley, who sat upon another chair; leaping 


Captain Bluitt Sensational 391 

upon the platform, pushing by the astonished pastor, and 
disappearing through the study-door. 

Bunder Foot had lingered for a moment in the study, 
for some unknown reason, but the captain’s eagerness was 
so great that the Indian had no time to lose if he wished 
to get away, and so, as Captain Bluitt thrust himself into 
the room. Bunder Foot ran into the street and disappeared 
around the corner. 

He was gone when the captain got into the open air 
and, after looking into the darkness up and down the 
street and hesitating whether it would be better or not- 
to take up a hunt that promised to have no very successful 
result. Captain Bluitt entered the study, closed the outer 
door and came again upon the platform. 

Speechless amazement, mingled with feelings of in- 
dignation and strong curiosity — these are words that 
may convey some sort of notion of the sentiment of the 
congregation that now beheld Captain Bluitt, hot, red, 
and out of breath, with the front of his hair standing 
stiffly upward, and with a certain wild look in his eyes, 
returning from the pursuit of the nobleman who five 
minutes earlier was stirring with his affecting words the 
deepest emotions of that great mass of people. 

Unused to the platform, and not having perfect com- 
mand of himself. Captain Bluitt seemed to hesitate for a 
minute whether to descend upon the left-hand steps or the 
right-hand steps, or whether to jump down. He had 
almost decided to jump, when Dr. Frobisher said: 

‘‘One moment. Captain Bluitt! It is positively neces- 
sary that you should explain to the congregation this 
extraordinary scene — this strange and shocking inter- 
ruption of divine worship. Do not forget that this is a 
sacred place. It appears to me that there has been pro- 
fanation.” 

Captain Bluitt stopped and listened to the pastor. 

“Do you want me to tell the story right here?” he 
asked. 


?92 


Captain Bluitt 


“Yes.” 

“rm not much used to speaking in a public place like 
this, but ril do the best I can.” 

“How perfectly vulgar!” whispered Mrs. Frobisher to 
her friends. “That horrid man! What on earth can he 
have done to frighten that dear Indian gentleman?” 

“Dr. Frobisher and friends,” began Captain Bluitt, 
clearing his throat and growing redder, “I needn’t tell 
you how sorry I am to make such a disturbance ; I hadn’t 
the slightest notion of it when I came to the church, but 
that Indian’s a tremendous rascal.” 

“Oh!” exclaimed Mrs. Frobisher. 

“Worse than that,” continued the captain, “he is a 
murderer and a thief!” 

“I don’t believe a word of it,” said Mrs. Frobisher 
almost aloud, and with her face as red as Captain Bluitt’s. 
“It is scandalous to say such a thing.” 

“He is no prince at all,” said the captain. “Prince! 
why he was the body-servant of a friend of mine, an 
Englishman, when I was in Calcutta ten years ago; a 
precious rascal!” 

“You know this to be true?” asked Dr. Frobisher, who 
was almost overwhelmed by shame and disgust and by 
the consciousness that he was largely responsible for 
giving Bunder Foot the opportunity to impose upon the 
people of Turley. Dr. Frobisher felt that he should 
be ill. 

“Know it? Surely! I lived in the house of that man’s 
master with that man. I was living there when he mur- 
dered his master!” 

The congregation, keyed to the highest pitch of curios- 
ity and excitement, uttered exclamations. 

“Horrible!” said Dr. Frobisher, reaching for a chair, 
upon which he leaned. 

“The villain recognized me at once. Why did he fly? 
The case proves itself. The sight of my face unnerved 
him; he knew that his game was up. His master’s name 


Captain Bluitt Sensational 393 

was Thompson — William Parker Thompson; or maybe 
it was Barker, instead of Parker. But, anyhow, Thomp- 
son lived in the suburbs of Calcutta in a lovely house. 
He was rich and he liked me and I liked him, and I went 
over to stay with him for a week or ten days, while my 
ship was unloading and refitting. He lived splendidly, 
and he had a Sepoy servant, one of the handsomest 
young men I ever saw, and smart is no name for how 
smart he was. But I never liked the look of his eye. 
Thompson trusted him with everything and used him 
sometimes as his secretary, for the boy wrote a beautiful 
hand and could imitate any handwriting that he ever 
saw. Thompson treated him more like a son than a 
servant, and I told him he ought to be more careful; but 
he laughed and said Randy would be willing to die for 
him, he loved his master so. He called the boy Randy, 
though his real name was Ranpojama, or some Indian 
name like that. Well, the last night I was to spend at 
Thompson’s I went to bed as usual and was undisturbed ; 
but the first thing in the morning there was a tremendous 
excitement; and no wonder! During the night Randy 
had gone to his master’s room and strangled him in his 
bed. Then he had picked up all the ready money that 
was in Thompson’s desk, all the gold things and the 
silver things that he could carry, and all the jewels, in- 
cluding a magnificent ruby, the biggest and finest I ever 
saw, and he was gone! The police got after him and big 
rewards were offered, and they searched the rolling earth 
for him, but he had wholly disappeared. And here he 
was to-night, praying! Actually praying in our old Tur- 
ley church; the rascal! Now, friends, that’s the whole 
story. We will start another hunt for him and if we 
catch him, off he goes to India and to the scaffold.” 

In the crowd that filled the church the only person to 
whom the unmasking of Bunder Poot was not com- 
pletely surprising was John Hamilton. 

He would have found difficulty, perhaps, in describing 


394 Captain Bluitt 

the feelings with which he regarded the exposure and 
swift flight of the impostor. There was much relief for 
him in the assurance that the rascal would never return. 
But, then, Hamilton had now new light upon the des- 
perate character of the man, and he felt at once appre- 
hension that Bunder Foot would still endeavor to obtain 
new supplies of money from the cashier, or in pure 
malevolence would reveal to the bank-officers the fact of 
Hamilton’s defalcation. 

And so whatever pleasure the cashier felt as he wit- 
nessed the discomfiture and disappearance of his enemy, 
was tempered with the warrantable fear that the terrible 
hold of the Indian upon him had not yet been shaken off. 

As Hamilton came from the church-door into the street 
his wife, holding his arm more closely than was her 
custom, said to him, so soon as they had freed them- 
selves from the crowd : 

‘‘Isn’t it terrible, dear?” 

She was almost ready to cry. 

“Terrible indeed,” he answered, “that a man should 
commit such crimes.” 

“O, not so much the wicked things he did in India, 
though they were dreadful; but, O John, how could the 
man be such a hypocrite?” 

“It is inconceivable.” 

“To think of that creature, with blood on his hands 
and theft in his heart, posing as a devout Christian! 
Such lovely prayers, too! Did you ever hear any one 
pray with greater apparent devotion than he did to- 
night?” 

“Never.” 

“It is enough,” continued Mrs. Hamilton, “to make 
one tremble for other people who pretend to be devout; 
indeed to tremble for oneself. How did he ever manage 
to make us all believe that he is a Christian man? Had 
you any doubt about him, dear?” 

“Hamilton hesitated a moment and then said: 


Captain Bluitt Sensational 39^ 

“No!” 

Of course not; and yet you are so quick and accurate 
in judging men. Do you think he got much money here 
in Turley?’’ 

‘T really don’t know,” answered Hamilton. 

*T’m afraid he collected several hundred dollars. I am 
so glad we gave him only a little. I am glad, too, that 
we never became so intimate with him as some of the 
people did. And he really seemed to fancy you, too, dear, 
I thought.” 

'T hardly think he did,” answered Hamilton. “He only 
thought I could help him with his schemes, because I 
am somewhat prominent.” 

“Well, let us be thankful he is gone. Wasn’t it for- 
tunate that Captain Bluitt happened to know him? What 
would he not have done if he had not been recognized?” 

“It was a lucky thing, indeed.” 

“And John?” 

“Well, my dear?” 

She pressed his arm closer to her bosom. 

“O! what an awful thing it is, dear, to get money by 
any crooked method! I would rather starve to death. 
How thankful I am that we do not have a dollar that 
does not honestly belong to us 1” 

Captain Bluitt, looking at the throng that filled the 
aisles and tarried to talk of the strange occurrences of 
the evening, decided to leave the church through the door 
opening from the pastor’s study to the street. 

Shaking hands with Dr. Frobisher and bidding him 
good-night just as the minister passed from the platform 
to the pew to comfort Mrs. Frobisher, who was in tears 
and not unlikely to become hysterical. Captain Bluitt 
withdrew from the church. 

He walked slowly down the dark street, without think- 
ing of or waiting for Puella, who lingered in the church, 
and with his thought fixed upon the scene in India of 
which he had just spoken to the congregation. 


396 Captain Bluitt 

One or two persons passed him and spoke to him, 
almost without recognition on his part, and he might 
have covered the entire distance to his home without 
clear consciousness of surrounding objects when, chanc- 
ing to lift his eyes as he turned the corner by Jones’s 
drug-store, where the light in the window was thrown 
upon the sidewalk, he saw the turbanned, loosely-clad 
form of the Hindu upon the other side of the street, mov- 
ing in the direction opposite to that in which he himself 
was going. 

Instantly the captain dashed across the street and 
seized the figure, shouting for help. 

Holding the man fast and pulling him swiftly toward 
the light, the captain in a moment found that he had seized 
Rufus Potter. 

“It’s me, Cap’n Bluitt, only me. Please don’t pull so 
hard,” said Rufus. 

“Rufus!” exclaimed the captain. “Are you crazy? 
What are you doing in those clothes? Tell me quick.” 

“I’m a goin’ to tell you, cap’n. I was jes a huntin’ you 
up to tell you. I was pushin’ for the church.” 

“Well, out with it!” 

A crowd of persons had gathered about the captain and 
Rufus, and it increased in dimensions every moment. All 
Turley knew by this time of the remarkable occurrence 
at the church. 

“Why, you see,” began Rufus, “I was jes’ a-closin’ up 
the stable this evenin’ after fixin’ it fer the night, and 
I hain’t more’n got my hand on the door to shet it, than 
in jumps this yer Punder Boot like a crazy man. He 
pushed me inside, slammed the door, drawed a pistol, 
cocked it and aimed it at me. ‘Off with them there 
clothes quick!’ says he. ‘Which clothes?’ says I, pretty 
near skeered to death. I never suspicioned that the man 
was in earnest onless he was crazy. ‘Them there clothes 
you has on!’ says he; ‘quick, now! no foolin’! off with 
’em!’ I had on my best Sunday suit and I hated like 


Captain Bluitt Sensational 397 

pizin to let it go, but I skinned it off in a hurry, I tell 
you/’ 

“Well?” said Captain Bluitt, impatiently. 

‘Now,’ says he, as he took off his clothes and put mine 
on him (blame him, I say!) ‘you git out that there bay 
mare of Bluitt’s and saddle her, quick.’ ” 

You didn t do it, did you?” asked the captain, angrily. 

“Cap’n^ Bluitt, it wan’t no use a hesitatin’. He’d a 
blowed my brains out before you could wink.” 

“No he wouldn’t,” said the captain bitterly. “Nobody 
could do that. You can’t blow out a vacuum.” 

“He said he would, and he looked it. I’m a man with 
a fambly and I ain’t got no room fer takin’ no chanctes, 
so I put on the saddle on the mare and led her out.” 

“ ‘Open that there door,’ says he, a jumpin’ into the 
saddle. So I opened the door and, as he started down 
the street he hollered: ‘Them Injun clothes is yourn, 
Rufus! You can wear ’em at the School Board!’ Tlien 
he kinder laughed and the mare went off like a bullet out 
of a gun!” 

“So I never had no chanct fer nothin’ but to put on his 
clothes; fer I couldn’t walk around the town naked, now 
could I? I got into ’em and was a hurryin’ down the 
street to find you and to tell you. That’s all there is. I’ve 
had a close shave to death, that’s what I’ve had,” and 
Rufus began to cry. 

“Which way did the scoundrel go?” asked the captain. 

“Down that way,” answered Rufus, pointing with his 
hand, “out towards Dr. Quelch’s. But you bet he ain’t 
goin’ to keep that road! He’s goin’ to shift around as 
soon as he gits out a piece. He’s as near a devil as any 
man I ever seen!” 

Captain Bluitt went over to the mayor’s office and gave 
to the police all the facts in his possession, and a chase 
was begun, but without result. 

Then the captain thought he should like to relate to 


j 98 Captain Bluitt 

Florabella the exciting adventures of the evening; and 
when she had heard of them, she said: 
distrusted that man from the first/^ 

^‘You are quick at reading character, aren’t you?” 

*‘I think I am,” she said; and as Captain Bluitt held her 
soft white hand and looked at her lovely hair, he felt that 
the remark had in it something like a compliment for 
him. 


CHAPTER XXV 
Flight 


W HILE Turley on Wednesday morning was still 
blazing with the excitement created by the 
exposure and flight of the Hindu impostor 
upon the preceding evening, and while nearly 
all the Turley people outside of the Presbyterian Church 
were thoroughly enjoying a sensational occurrence which 
supplied theme for much talk and infused the dull life of 
the town with some elements of dramatic interest, another 
incident presented itself to give to Turley a still stronger 
shock. 

When the morning papers from the great city came 
down to Turley they contained the narrative of the flight 
of the teller of one of the city banks, after discovery of the 
fact that he had stolen a huge sum of money belonging 
to the institution. Under ordinary circumstances this 
narrative would have interested the people of the town 
not a little, but they had in the exposure of Bunder Foot 
a tragedy of their own that day which was to them of 
surpassing importance. 

To one man, however, the news had mighty interest, 
and John Hamilton trembled as he read it. He did not 
believe that the crime in the city would in any manner 
involve him, but he could not escape the thought that the 
fate which had overtaken the defaulting teller might one 
day be his. He pondered the matter all day Wednesday 
while he was at the bank, and on Thursday morning he 
returned to his desk, not at ease or having confidence, 
but sure that no peril threatened him immediately. 

It was therefore with feelings of consternation that he 

(399) 


403 Captain Bluitt | 

saw two strangers enter his room at the bank, with the I 
president and two of the directors, and heard the presi- ; 

dent say: i 

“Mr. Hamilton, the Board has determined to have the : 
accounts of the bank completely overhauled by these b 
gentlemen, official accountants. Of course we are per- - 
fectly confident that everything is right; there are no 
grounds of any kind for suspicion ; but the feeling among 
the directors and stock-holders is that this work, which j 
should have been done long ago, should be done now. 
Will you be so kind as to give these gentlemen access to 
everything and to lend them help in the performance of 

their task?” . j 

Then the president called Hamilton aside and whis- | 
pered to him: j 

“I want them particularly to look into the work of the ( 
receiving teller. Have you had any suspicions there, < 
Hamilton?” 

“No.” ^ ^ j 

“I can’t say exactly that I have, either. No, not sus- 
picions. But let these men go right to the bottom of J 
everything and then suspicion will be unnecessary. Keep i 
a sharp eye all day, will you, upon both tellers?” 

For John Hamilton the day of doom had come, and he 
almost lost self-control in making the effort to maintain 
composure while his mind cast about for some method of 
escaping from the frightful situation in which he had been 
suddenly placed. 

He made a brave show of receiving the visitors with 
willing affability, and as he moved about with them, 
showing them the various books and pointing out the 
compartments in the vault in which securities and moneys 
were distributed, he talked cheerfully and even praised 
the prudence of the bank in having such an examination 
made. 

“No bank,” he said, “should go along year after year 
doing business and taking for granted everything is right. 


Flight 401 

You can’t tell who is to be trusted, in these days. If the 
Board had taken my advice it would have had the ac- 
counts overhauled once a year for ten years past.’^ 

Then, when the accountants had actually settled down 
to their work in the president’s room, the cashier re- 
turned to his own room and seized a precious moment 
for thought. That he must fly, and at once, was certain. 
At any moment some trace might be found of his theft; 
and he must go, if he were to go at all, while still he was 
unsuspected. 

Go; but where? Strangely enough, he had never con- 
sidered the possibility of flight nor prepared for it in his 
mind. The last desperate emergency which had now 
thrust itself upon him without warning he had thought 
of, when he had ventured to think of it, as far off in a 
future which might indeed never come. But now he 
must act, and act without time to consider whither he 
should go or what he should do. 

One reflection he had: There was no money in his 
pocket and he could not fly without money. He walked 
into the vault, picked up a small bundle of notes, thrust 
them into his pocket, returned to his office, took up his 
hat, and walking by the window of the paying-teller, said : 

'T will be back again in five minutes,” and left the bank. 

His first thought was to go home before he left the 
town; but this seemed to him inadvisable, for he could 
not bear to reveal the truth to the dear ones who would 
be startled by his appearance, and then, when the theft 
should be discovered, he would be sought for at his house. 

His inclination was to take a train for the city; but 
there was no train before the afternoon, and that might 
be too late. He thought then of hiring a carriage and 
driving away ; but that would permit the bank directors 
to know upon what road he had gone. Pursuit and ar- 
rest would be quick and sure. He could not walk swift- 
ly enough to reach a place of’ safety before the officers 
of the law would look for him. Plainly he must hide 

26 


402 Captain Bluitt j 

somewhere until night and then leave the town in a 
manner which would permit his movements to be hidden. . 
was no train before the afternoon, and that might be too 
late. He thought then of hiring a carriage and driving i 
away; but that would permit the bank directors to know , 
upon what road he had gone. Pursuit and arrest would [ 
be quick and sure. He could not walk swiftly enough i. 
to reach a place of safety before the officers of the law | 
would look for him. Plainly he must hide somewhere 
until night and then leave the town in a manner which j 
would permit his movements to be hidden. 

His mind was in such a state of excitement and dis- i 
traction that he could hardly frame a plan of action, and 
as he walked along, really fearing that he would be col- 
lared by a policeman before he could make a decision, | 
he saw Saul Tarsel entering the front-door of the Presby- 
terian Church. 

Hamilton looked about him. No other person was 
upon the street near to him; no eyes looked upon him 
from the neighboring windows. He fairly ran towards 
the church and pushed through the doorway. 

He closed the door behind him and locked it, while 
the negro turned and looked at him with surprise. 

“Is dat you Mars. Hamilton? Good mawnin!” 

“Saul, Saul!” exclaimed Hamilton, “come in here for 
a moment,” and he led the way into the church, where he 
almost fell into one of the pews. 

“Saul,” he said, “I have always been kind to you, 
haven’t I?” 

“Yes, Mars. Hamilton.” 

“I’ve always treated you right. They would have 
turned you out of this place long ago, Saul, if I h^adn’t 
stood by you.” 

“You’se my fren. Mars. Hamilton, dat’s certain.” 

“Yes, I have stood by you; and here, Saul, here’s five 
dollars I want to give you,” and he handed the negro the 
money. k 


Flight 403 

“Much 'bleeged, Mars. Hamilton, but what’s dat fur?” 

I m in great trouble, Saul. I can’t tell you all about 
it just now; great trouble, and I want you to promise not 
to tell anybody I’m here. Will you promise?” 

“Co’se I will. Mars. John; sholy!” 

^^Swear that you will not tell; will you do that?” 

Yes, Marster, I swear on de good Book ef you wants 
me to.” 

Not a soul must know it, no matter who asks you; no 
matter what happens. You won’t give me up, will you, 
Saul?” 

“No, Mars. John, you’se safe yer, wid me.” 

‘ And I’ll tell you what we’ll do, Saul,” continued the 
panic-stricken man, while the negro regarded him with 
pity and amazement, “you open the door to the tower and 
let me go up there, and then lock the door and keep every- 
body out and keep your tongue still and then come to me 
about seven o’clock to-night. Bring me something to 
eat and some water. Will you do that?” 

“Yes, Marster.” 

“Don’t let any one see you bringing the food and water 
to me. Do it after dark, and don’t light the gas in the 
vestibule, and don’t answer any questions if you are asked 
about me. And Saul, here’s another five dollars for you.’' 

“I doan’ wan’ de money, Mars. John. I’ll tek care o’ 
you widout dat.” 

“Take it, take it,” said Hamilton, forcing the note upon 
him. “I want to pay you for your trouble.” 

Then Saul led the way to the tower and when Hamilton 
had reached the chamber below the belfry, Hamilton 
said: 

“Bring me up two pew-cushions and a chair, Saul.” 

This having been done, Hamilton said: 

“Now go down stairs, lock the door; bring me food and 
water at seven o’clock and I will give you further direc- 
tions.” 


404 Captain Bluitt 

Saul slowly descended the stairs, fastened the door, and 
went towards the pastor’s study, saying to himself: 

“Ef de gemman ain’ clean, stock crazy den dey’s sumpin 
gone wrong down yer at de bank !” 

The absence of the cashier from the bank startled the 
president when it was reported to him, and when hour 
after hour passed by and still Hamilton did not return, 
suspicion seemed to strengthen into certainty. A clerk 
went to his house to ask if he were there, and Mrs. Ham- 
ilton received the first of a series of shocks which were 
to bring anguish to her soul. Then rumor that some- 
thing was wrong at the bank began to fly about the town, 
and before any definite information had been obtained by 
the accountants that the cashier had taken money from 
the institution, nearly all Turley had heard that John 
Hamilton was a defaulter and a fugitive. 

Here, then, right in the heart of the town, was a tragedy 
that dwarfed in its proportions the drama that had been 
enacted in the church only two days before. 

Long before the bank closed, the examiners, having 
learned where to look for wrong-doing, found the way to 
the path which the cashier had trod, and before night the 
total dimensions of the defalcation were known. A notice 
signed by the president was affixed to the door of the 
bank, giving the facts and the figures and the assurance 
supplied by the examiners that the resources of the bank 
were not seriously impaired and that it had assets far 
beyond its liabilities. These statements were received 
with confidence and the depositors refrained from making 
any pressing demands upon the institution when it opened 
on Friday morning. The police authorities at once began 
to search for the fugitive, who, it was thought, had fled 
to the city. 

Saul Tarsel kept his secret amid all the excitement, 
displaying really remarkable ingenuity in counterfeiting 
innocence of any knowledge of Hamilton’s whereabouts, 
while every human being in the town discussed the sub- 


Flight 40J 

ject to the abandonment of all other topics of conver- 
sation. 

When evening came, the negro brought food from his 
own house to the church, and filling a pitcher with water 
in the pastor’s study, he climbed in the darkness to the 
chamber where his prisoner lay and ministered to him. 

Hamilton questioned him to learn if the crime had been 
discovered and eagerly listened while the sexton, half 
ashamed to tell all that he had heard, related some of the 
facts that had come into his possession. 

‘‘And you will still be faithful to me, Saul?” he said. 
“You will not desert me? You will help me, won’t you?” 

“Yes, Marster, sholy.” 

“Let me tell you what to do. Go down to the foot of 
the next street and see if Mr. Robinson’s boat is lying 
there, as it nearly always is, and if the oars are in it. If it 
is there, will you row me across the river to Coantico to- 
night, Saul?” 

“Hit’s two good miles. Mars. John, but I’ll do hit.” 

“Two miles, yes! But I’ll pay you well for it, and you 
can bring the boat back and it will be there all right in 
the morning and nobody will know it. You will do that, 
won’t you Saul?” 

“Yes, Mars. John, I’ll do dat, sho’.” 

“Very well, you go down there now, and leave me the 
keys of the church. Come back and when you get on the 
pavement in front of the church, cough — have a fit of 
coughing — if the boat is there. Then go right back to 
the river and wait for me. I will find my way to you as 
quickly as I can.” 

The negro left him and before ten o’clock struck the 
cashier heard the signal. At once he came down into the 
church, and feeling his way along the aisle he unlocked 
the door leading to the side-street and slowly opening it, 
he peered out into the darkness. Nobody was near. 
Pulling his hat down over his eyes he stepped upon the 


4o 6 Captain Bluitt 

street and walked swiftly in the gloom, through alley- 
ways and unfrequented streets, to the river. 

Saul stood by the boat awaiting him, and almost joy- 
fully the wretched criminal stepped in and took his seat 
while the negro thrust the craft into deep water and leap- 
ing in, placed the oars in position and turned the prow 
towards the farther shore. 

The tide ran strongly, but the black was a powerful 
man and a good oarsman and the boat went swiftly to- 
wards its destination. 

^‘Saul,’^ said the cashier, when Turley had been left far 
behind; ‘T must tell you how all this happened. It was 
Bunder Foot that got me into this terrible trouble.’’ 

‘T kinder ’spicioned dat. Mars. John.” 

‘‘Yes, Saul, he threatened me and scared me and 
cheated me to get money and I had to give it to him, 
Saul; I had to give it to him. I couldn’t help myself.” 

“He was de debbil, dat man!” 

“And Saul!” 

“Yes, Mars. John.” 

“He took from me the eight hundred dollars belonging 
to you — took that from me, Saul!” 

The negro uttered a cry of bitter anguish, and came 
near to dropping the oars overboard. 

“Not dat. Mars. John! Not dat! Dat money ain’ done 
gone too?” And the old man began to sob. 

“I’m very, very sorry Saul. I did everything I could 
to protect you. But he had me by the throat. I was 
helpless. I had to give it to him or he would have killed 
me.” 

“O, Mars. John,” exclaimed the negro, rowing again, 
but with distinctly diminished energy, “dat snatches my 
wife and my liddle gal right from me! Dey’s done gone 
forever! O my wife, my Phoebe! I’ll nebber see you 
agin, nebber, nebber!” 

“It is terrible Saul, terrible, but what could I do? My 
wife and child are gone too. Gone, gone, gone! But 


407 


Flight 

perhaps, Saul, something will happen that I can pay you 
the money again; yes something. And Saul, you won’t 
be angry and betray me, will you?” 

“No, Marster, I say I woan’, an’ I mean I woan’. But 
may de good Lord forgib you. It’s werry ha’d fo’ de ol’ 
man an’ his heart night a breckin’ anyway.” 

When they came near to the shore it was far on towards 
midnight, and Hamilton knew that there was a train away 
from the great city, bound southward, which stopped at 
Coantico at that hour. If he could reach it undetected 
he should feel safe. He did reach it. 

As he stepped ashore he gave more money to the black 
man, and said to him: 

“Saul, go to my house in the morning and see Mrs. 
Hamilton and tell her where you took me, and that I 
will try to find a way to write to her. But say nothing to 
any other person.” 

Then, as he turned away and walked towards the sta- 
tion, Saul Tarsel took up the oars and with pain and rage 
and grief in his heart began to row homeward. 

The night was more than half gone when he reached 
Turley, but he felt that he could not go directly to the 
cabin where he lived. He walked over to the church 
and opening the door he lighted a single burner, for he 
did not like to be alone there in the darkness. Then, with 
the dim shadows about him, with perfect silence outside 
in the street and with his heart night to bursting with 
its sorrow, he ascended the platform and going to the 
place where prayer was wont to be made, he flung himself 
down at full length and with his forehead resting upon his 
wrists, he fell into a passion of weeping. 

At first he could not find utterance, but in a few 
moments, when the storm had spent itself a little, he said: 

“My Marster, I’se jes a po’ good fo’ nuffin brack man! 
Dey ain’ no good in me! But dey alius sez de mo’ wuf- 
fless a man is an’ de lower down he drap de mo’ yo’ love 
him an’ de furder yo’ go to lif’ him out. Come to me 


4o8 


Captain Bluitt 

now, my Marster an^ gV me hoi’ o’ yer han’! O, gi’ my 
wife back to me! I knows yo’ feels fo’ de suflferin’, kase 
yo’ suffered yo’ own self; an’ I’se one o’ dem! Dey ain’ 
spit in my face lek dey done wid yo’, but dey done lash 
my back same as yo’, an’ de welts is dere yit. ^ O gi’ my 
wife to me agin ! I’se lonely ! I believes yo’ is wid me, 
but I can’ see yo’ an’ I’se jes’ hungry fo’ my own flesh an’ 
blood, an’ she’s flesh o’ my flesh, fur dem’s de werry wuds 
outen yo’ own mouf Marster! Doan’ let me fail o’ believ- 
in’. Dis yer is de time I wan’s yo’, when I’se in dis great 
misery. Help me! Help me now! Don’t let go yo’ hoi’ 
on me! O gi’ her back to me! gi’ her back! gi’ her back 

to me once more, my Marster dear!” 

He could say no more. The sobs choked his voice; 
and after a time he rose and went to his home, not to 
sleep, but to watch until the morning came. 

And when the morning came the excitement in Turley 
had not diminished., Saul went about his duties as usual 
and kept his secret close until he should have to disclose 
it to the inmates of the forsaken home. 

There were comments of diverse kinds upon the revela- 
tion of Hamilton’s misconduct. Many persons of extra- 
ordinary sagacity declared that they had for a long time 
suspected something was wrong with the cashier and 
with the bank. 

Colonel Ely’s comment was brief: “One of those re- 
ligious lambs!” It was a favorite theory with the colonel 
that every church-member is either a hypocrite or a fool. 

Mrs. Frobisher almost succumbed when this frightful 
occurrence came right upon the heels of the dethrone- 
ment of her Indian idol. “But I am glad, O, so glad! 
that Lochinvar did not entangle himself with Dorothea! 
Poor boy! It is hard for her, too, but what an escape 
for him! The Metcalfs have no blot upon their es- 
cutcheon.” 

Judge McGann went straight to the bank when he 
heard of the defalcation and had an interview with the 


409 


Flight 

president. He related all the facts about Hamilton’s re- 
lations with him and expressed deep regret that the 
money, with the exception of fifteen hundred dollars, had 
been expended. 

‘‘And here,” he said, “is the remainder. I have no 
claim to it. It is your’s. More than that,” added Mc- 
Cann, “I shall not be satisfied until I have turned over 
my patents and my plant to the bank. I want no stolen 
property upon my hands.” 

The president agreed that this was really handsome 
conduct; and, acquitting the judge of any guilty knowl- 
edge of the cashier’s transactions, he accepted the fifteen 
hundred dollars and consented to recommend to the bank 
to take an assignment of the Motor-patents as an equiva- 
lent for the rest of the money invested by Hamilton. 

“That is perfectly agreeable to me, perfectly,” said the 
judge. “I’ll go right home and fix up the papers and 
just charge the whole thing off. In fact,” said the judge, 
with just a tinge of bitterness, “I’m somewhat used to 
that process.” 

“What process?” inquired the president. 

“Charging things off. It seems to me most of my life 
has been expended in performing that feat. I am really 
becoming quite expert at it. If money could be made 
l)y charging off, I should have been a rich man long 
ago — very rich.” 

As for Dr. Frobisher, when Sunday came he seemed 
to have grown ten years older. With greatest difficulty 
he avoided breaking down and sobbing while he con- 
ducted the services, and his brief sermon upon the text 
“Walk circumspectly, not as fools,” moved the congre- 
gation as it had not been moved by him for many a year. 

There was a vacant pew in the church, that morning, 
and the sweetest voice that had ever been heard in the 
sanctuary would never again be heard there by the wor- 
shipers. 

Dr. Frobisher felt that he must leave Turley. He 


410 Captain Bluitt 

began to form the nbtion that he might find a better field 
in the far new West; but Mrs. Frobisher discouraged the 

thought. . 

“The West/' she said, ‘‘is so far from Aramingo, and 
is full of unpleasant immigrants and things.” 

When Saul Tarsel, on Friday morning, went to the 
Hamilton house to deliver the message that had been 
confided to him, he felt that the burden placed upon him 
by the cashier in charging him with such a function was 
almost too heavy for him. 

He walked up to the side-porch that faced the garden 
and gently rapped upon the door. 

It was opened by Florabella Burns. 

“Well, Saul, what is it?” 

The negro hesitated, as he bowed several times very 
respectfully. He hardly knew how to begin. 

“Missy Burns, ef you pardon me, I’se jes' gwine to 
'nquire ef I kin see Missy Hamilton.” 

“Mrs. Hamilton, do you mean, Saul?” 

“Yes’m.” 

“No, she is ill, and confined to her room. What do 
you want?” 

“Ef vo’ please. Missy Burns, kin I see Missy Dorry 
den?” ' 

“I hardly think so. What is your errand?” 

“Fse 'bleeged not to tell nobody but her, axing yo’ 
pardon Missy Burns ef yo’ please.” 

Mrs. Burns suspected that the negro knew something 
of the fugitive, and she returned to the house to ask 
Dorothea's permission to admit Saul. 

“Come in, Saul,” she said, as she came again to the 
door. 

The negro was ushered into the library, where Dor- 
othea sat with her face white and drawn and her eyes red 
with weeping. Mrs. Burns had flown to her to comfort 
her. 


Flight 4„ 

Saul entered, holding his hat in his hand and bowing 
again and again to the two women. 

“You have something to say to me Saul?’’ asked 
Dorothea in a low voice. 

“Yes, Missy, ef yo’ please. I'se werry sorry to be 
onpolite to Missy Burns, but dey tol’ me to speak to 
Missy Dorry all by her own self.” 

“What you have to say, Saul, you may say before Mrs. 
Burns. She is my dearest friend and she will not 
repeat it.” 

Then Saul told the story of the father’s hiding In the 
tower, of his journey across the river and of his promise 
that his dear ones should hear from him. 

Both women sobbed as he spoke to them, and the old 
man could not restrain his tears. 

When he had completed the narrative he could not 
refrain from seeking for sympathy in his own great sor- 
row, and he added: 

“Yes, Missy, and Mars. Hamilton done say to me dat 
dat Injin stole de money dat I had in de bank fo’ to buy 
my wife an’ chile. Dey ain’ a dollar lef; not one; all 
gone, an’ de wife an’ de chile done gone fo’ good too!” 

This news came like another terrible stab to the heart 
of the suflering girl. She rose and took Saul’s hand: 

“Dear Saul,” she said, weeping, “thank you, O ! thank 
you so much for caring for dear father. I am so sorry 
that your money is gone. But you shall have it again! 
Yes, Saul, you shall have it again, and more, if I have to 
work for it with my own hands.” 

When Saul had gone. Dr. Quelch came down stairs 
from the room where he had visited Mrs. Hamilton. He 
sat by the side of the table near to Dorothea, and for a 
few moments did not speak. At length he said: 

“My child, your mother is quite ill. You must have 
some one to help you care for her.” 

“I will do that,” said Mrs. Burns. “I will stay here 
with her.” 


412 


Captain Bluitt 

'That will do very nicely/’ said the physician, and then 
he gave some directions respecting the care of the patient. 

It was natural that Dorothea should associate the 
doctor with the slave woman and child in the South, and 
so the thought occurred to her to ask him to help Saul to 
get his wife and daughter. She told him that Saul’s 
money was gone^ and said: 

"O doctor! if there is any way in which he can be saved 
from his frightful disappointment will you not use it?” 

"I will see what can be done,” answered Dr. Quelch 
gravely. "Perhaps I can help him.” 

That night while Saul Tarsel sat alone in his little 
house, mourning over the hard fate that had befallen him, 
and praying, from time to time, that a way might be found 
by which the longing desire of his heart should be grati- 
fied, there was a rap upon his door. 

He arose and opened it, and Becky Slifer came in. He 
knew who she was but he had never spoken to her. He 
could not imagine what was the nature of her errand on 
this evening. 

Becky placed a chair by the side of the fire where she 
could look into his face, and after a few words of greeting 
had passed between them, she said: 

"Dey sez yo’ los’ de money yo’ was savin’ to buy yo' 
wife?” 

“Yes, kinder los’ it.” 

“Well, I’se glad yo’ los’ it.” 

“Glad, yo’ nigger! Why’s yo’ glad?” 

“Kase de man who owns yo’ wife ain’ no right to own 
her. He ain’ yearned none o’ yo’ money. Yo’ doan’ pay 
him a dollar!” 

“Got no dollar to pay him, dat’s de on’y reason.” 

“Yo’ doan pay him none ef yo’ had a million. Wheffo’ 
you wan’ him to tech it? Yo’ pay him nuffin!” said 
Becky. 

“How, den, is I gwine to git her? I’se jes’ crazy wild 
fo’ her.” 


Flight 

‘pecky Slifer’ll git her fo’ yo’. Whar she live?” 

“Down in Gawgia/^ 

“Whar 'bouts in Gawgia?" 

''Nigh to Avison, on Jedge Beckersteth's plantation." 

“I knows him." 

“My liddle gal down dere, too." 

“How oF yo’ gal?" 

“ ’Bout fo’teen, I reckon." 

“Is yo’ wife a strong woman?" 

“Dat’s what I think. I ain’ seen her fo’ de longes’ 
while." ^ 

“What’s her name?" 

“Phoebe, an ’de gal she’s named Liddy." 

"I’ll git ’em." 

“How yo’ gwine to git ’em, woman?" 

“Doan’ yo’ bodder ’bout it. Yo’ has yo’ wife an’ gal 
in less ’n two weeks, sho’.’’ 

“Yo’ gwine to run ’em off?" 

“Unnergroun’ railroad, man! I’se a wukkin’ fo’ it; 
an’ doin’ de wuk, too,” said Becky, with exultation. “I’se 
run off twelve niggers sence Chewsday a week, an’ I’ll 
fetch yourn." 

“Dat’s too good to be de truf," said Saul, mournfully, 
shaking his head. 

'Werry well," said Becky, rising to go, “on’y yo’ jes’ 
keep yo’ mouf shet an’ dey’ll be yer befo’ two weeks is 
gone. Min’ what I say: Yo’ gits a letter frum me. Doan’ 
yo’ show it to no white man. Git Ephr’im Slocum to read 
it fo’ yo’. Den yo’ git a wagon an’ come in a hurry down 
yer to Robinson’s, below de Broad Axe. Dere you’ll fin’ 
’em. Yo’ unnerstan’?" 

And as Becky took her leave, Saul returned to his seat 
with a new hope in his soul. 


CHAPTER XXVI 
Love, the Consoler 

T he wound that had been inflicted upon Mrs.Ham- 
ilton would not heal. The skill of the physician, 
the tender ministrations of her daughter and of 
Mrs. Burns, the deep sympathy of her friends, 
the earnest prayers of her pastor, availed nothing. Her 
heart was broken. Gentle, quiet, devout, pure and 
humble, the shame that had come to her and to the hus- 
band of her youth, and his absence from her as a fugitive 
before the law, had crushed her. The stricken woman 
lay upon her bed with hope dead within her, with sorrow 
that could not be uttered, with love so turned to anguish 
that the spirit could no longer sustain the feeble body. 
She lingered for a while, but the end came soon and 
Dorothea had lost both father and mother. 

Walter Drury had been away from home upon an 
errand for his journal and did not receive tidings of the 
tragedies in Turley until his return. What should he do? 
He reproached himself that he had not sooner made 
another effort to have communication with the woman he 
loved, and yet, as he examined the matter, it did seem 
plain to him that he could have done nothing so long as 
she regarded her father’s mandate with so much respect. 

But now? The way did indeed seem open, but how 
should he rush into that household, filled as it was with 
grief and shame, and find in the father’s crime an oppor- 
tunity to re-establish affectionate relations with the 
daughter! It was a delicate and difficult matter to deter- 
mine. He did not doubt that Dorothea would yearn for 
him, and he was sure that even an appearance of indif- 

(414) 


Love, the Consoler 41 j 

ference would be cruel. He thought to visit Turley and 
to engage Aunt Puella to call for him upon Dorothea 
and to discover if she would see him. Then upon reflec- 
tion it seemed better that he should have Mrs. Burns, 
his sweetheart’s dearest friend, as his representative. He 
resolved to see her; but after thinking the matter over, 
he determined to write to her. 

The letter reached Mrs. Burns upon the day after Mrs. 
Hamilton’s death. She answered it at once, advising 
Walter of that occurrence and imploring him to come to 
Turley. When the funeral was over, Mrs. Burns tarried 
with Dorothea and directed the affairs of the household. 

“You will come to live with me, my dear,” she said to 
the girl, “when your affairs are all arranged.” 

“O, no!” answered Dorry, “I cannot give up this 
house. Dear father must have a home when he shall 
come back.” 

She helped Mrs. Burns to put the house in order after 
her mother’s illness, and with her own hands she took the 
clothing and the personal things that were her father’s 
and put them out of sight until he should come. While 
she was carrying over her arm a coat which she wished to 
hang in a closet, three letters fell from a pocket to the 
floor. She picked them up carelessly to replace them, 
but was startled to find that they were addressed to her in 
Walter’s handwriting. Dropping the coat, she ran to 
the window and tearing the envelopes, she began to read 
the letters. They were filled with expressions of pas- 
sionate affection. 

Mrs. Burns found her crying bitterly, while through 
her tears she tried to follow the lines of the letters. 

“What is it, dear?” asked Mrs. Burns. 

Dorothea rose and threw her arms about her friend’s 
neck-. 

“Letters from Walter which did not reach me! O, 
Mrs. Burns, is it any wonder he thought I did not care 
for him?” 


4i 6 Captain Bluitt 

have a letter from him myself, to-day,*’ said Mrs. 
Burns, without relating that her suspicions had been 
directed to this very condition of things. 

“Can I see it?” 

Mrs. Burns read it to her, and her tears flowed again 
as she heard Walter’s protestations of affection and 
sympathy. 

“I have written to him to come here at once,” said 
Florabella. “Will you receive him?” 

“Yes! How grateful I shall be. Will he come, do you 
think?” 

“There can be no doubt of it.” 

He did come, and on that very night. First he went 
to the house of Mrs. Burns; but learning that she was 
with Dorothea, he went there and Mrs. Burns saw him 
as he came up the street and met him at the door. Greet- 
ing him and ushering him into the parlor, she went up 
stairs to tell Dorothea that he waited for her. 

Walter had strange feelings as he walked up and down 
that room and looked into the library where he had treat- 
ment so ill from Hamilton, and his heart ached as he 
thought how much his beloved one had suffered since 
last he saw her. 

He heard her footstep upon the stairs and he went to 
the door to meet her. In an instant his arms were about 
her and her white face lay upon his breast while he kissed 
her again and again. She clung to him as if he were her 
only hope and refuge in this harsh and bitter world. 

“My darling!” he said. 

“I knew you would come,” she said as she looked up 
at him. “Yes, dear, I knew it. I knew that you would 
love me still. I did not get your letters, dear, or I should 
have answered them. I found them only a little while 
ago. They were kept from me. Do you forgive me 
Walter?” 

“Forgive you! Ah, my dearest, I need forgiveness, not 
you! Why did I not come to see you?” 



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“They sat upon the sofa, hand-in-hand.” — Page 417 





Love, the Consoler 417 

“O, you could not do that! No, it could not be. But 
now Walter I am alone and desolate. I knew you would 
come, and come here. God gave you to me. You are 
mine. I was sure from the first you were mine. I could 
have killed that woman they said would take you away 
from me!” There was a strange fierceness in her voice. 

‘‘No woman could come between us, dearest.” 

No, for you are mine. Mine here and mine forever. 
It is forever. It is eternal. I shall go first, but I will 
remember in the other world that it is we two; you and 
me; and you will come to me there, also, my love. I will 
wait for you; for my Walter,” and she kissed him and put 
her hand upon his hair. 

They sat upon the sofa hand in hand and he told her 
of his sorrow for her in the afflictions that had come to 
her and of the plans that he had made already for her 
future and for his. 

“But I must stay here, dearest, for a while,” she said. 
“The house is sacred to me yet, and there are many, many 
things to do; and then, poor father will return and I 
cannot bear to think that he should be homeless. 

“You cannot remain here alone, dear. Why not go 
with Mrs. Burns?” 

“Not now, not now!” she said. “There is time enough 
to determine what is the best course. And you will come 
here often?” 

“Every week.” 

“And write to me?” 

“Every day, my dear.” 

Then Dorothea told Walter how her father had in- 
vested money in McGann’s invention, and how the bank 
had taken over the patents. And she told him also what 
she knew of Bunder Foot’s dealings with Hamilton ; how, 
among other things, the Hindu had obtained possession 
of Saul Tarsel’s money. 

“So you see, Walter, dear, it was all the work of that 
terrible Indian.” 


27 


4i 8 Captain Bluitt | 

Walter could not reach precisely this conclusion, but 
he would not deprive her of the satisfaction with which 
she rested upon it. I 

“I never liked that man,’’ she said. “Florabella and I I 
both thought there was something wrong about him the f 

first time he came to Turley; but O, Walter! I never j: 

could have dreamed that he would ruin father! 

‘‘You said to me,” observed Walter, “that your father 
had been acting strangely.” I 

“That was the reason; the influence of that dreadful j* 
man ! When I came home one night a few weeks ago I 
found them in the library together. I had a suspicion 
that something was the matter, for father was strangely | 
agitated; but he denied it, when I asked him about it. |. 
You will not hate father, now that you know the truth, |, 
will you Walter?” j 

“No.” I 

“Because he would never have been so unkind to you 
if he had been himself. It was unlike him. He was suffer- i 
ing terribly; but he was not really guilty, was he dear? | 
If the Hindu had never met him, he would be here with i 
us now and mother would be here too.” : 

Dorothea began to cry once more; and her lover com- j 
forted her. I 

“We must make the best of it, my dear. The past is j 
beyond recall. I will try to find your father and perhaps j 
the whole trouble with the bank can be arranged. I know j 
a rich man in the city, one of the owners of my newspaper, 
who is deeply interested in electrical contrivances. Per- | 

haps I can get him to buy the McGann patents from the 
bank and to pay enough to make good the whole loss. 
Then your father can come home again.” 

Dorothea hesitated for a moment, and then she said : 
“You will not forsake me because of the disgrace that 
has come to us?” 

“Walter put his arm about her and kissed her. 

“Have no fears of that kind, Dorothea. You are not 


Love, the Consoler 419 

touched by this matter; and nothing shall ever separate 
us again. But you cannot live here alone. Let us marry 
and then if your father returns he can come with us.’* 

'‘You are willing that he should?” 

“Yes.” 

“We cannot live in Turley, with your business in the 
city; and I fear father will not wish to live here.” 

No, I will take a house in the city and make that our 
home. And the marriage? Where will the ceremony be 
performed?” 

“Not here! Not in this house.” 

“I have felt that I should like to be married in the 
church where I first saw you,” said Walter. 

“I could not do that, dear,” she said. “Not in a public 
place so soon after mother’s death; and after all that has 
happened, it would be painful for me to go to that church 
soon again. Perhaps Mrs. Burns would permit us to be 
married in her house.” 

“That will do nicely.” 

“And do you know dear, that — ^that — well, Walter I 
have a great secret for you.” 

“You have?” 

“Yes. What do you think? Who else is to be married? 
Somebody you know and love.” 

“I can’t imagine. Not Florabella?” 

“Yes, yes!” 

“And who is the happy man?” 

“You will be delighted when I tell you.” 

“I never was good at guessing.” 

“Dear old Captain Bluitt!” 

“Wonderful!” exclaimed Walter. “Well, he is a lucky 
man. He always did have sound sense. ‘Aunt Flora- 
bella;’ that really has a very nice sound, hasn’t it? Both 
of us will have to learn to say it.” 

“And dear Mrs. Burns suggests that she and your 
uncle and you and I shall be married at the same time.” 

“That will be charming,” said Walter. “Now you see, 


420 


Captain Bluitt 

dearest, how much force there is in good example. You 
and I have taught these older folks how to find happiness. 
But, Dorry, there is one dear person who has been left 
out. What is to become of Aunt Puella?” 

“She will be very lonely, won’t she? Or will she live 
with your uncle and Florabella?” 

“I don’t know how she will feel about that; but I have 
a notion she will not care to stay there. Can’t we look 
about, dearest, and find a good husband for her?” 

Dorothea smiled for the first time in many days as 
she said: 

“I think your aunt would much rather take care of 
such a matter herself.” 

When the lovers had talked their plans over and over, 
and settled everything about their own immediate future, 
Mrs. Burns came down stairs and sat with them and re- 
joiced with them, and consented to all the arrangements 
they had made. 

At last Walter, after congratulating Mrs. Burns upon 
her engagement and warmly welcoming her to relation- 
ship with him, ventured to say: 

“And Mrs. Burns, Dorry and I were just wishing so 
much that Aunt Puella could follow your example and 
ours.” 

Florabella’s face became bright with smiles as she 
answered, mysteriously: 

“Puella? Don’t say a word about it, but do you know 
I have suspicions that she has an affair of her own just 
now?” 


CHAPTER XXVII 

Phoebe Tarsel Goes Home 

O NE day in the early winter while all these lovers 
were planning and plotting and filling them- 
selves with happiness, Uncle Saul Tarsel re- 
ceived a letter from Becky Slifer telling him 
that his wife Phoebe and daughter Liddy were at the 
house of a Quaker farmer near to the Broad Axe, a 
tavern at the crossing of two roads nearly nine miles from 
Turley. Becky asked him to send a vehicle at once which 
should bring them to Turley, for she had reason to be- 
lieve that the pursuers of the flying slaves were likely to 
discover their hiding-place and to adopt legal proceed- 
ings to obtain possession of them. 

The letter was read to Saul by Ephraim Slocum, and 
then, folding the letter and returning it to his pocket, 
Saul considered in what manner he should find convey- 
ance for the fugitives. He had no money with which to 
hire a vehicle and, at any rate, he should have been afraid 
to follow this course lest he should give too much pub- 
licity to the proceeding. Upon reflection he determined 
to ask help from Captain Bluitt, who more than once had 
been kind to him and who, he felt sure, would not be- 
tray him even if the captain should refuse to give active 
assistance. 

Upon presenting Becky’s letter to Captain Bluitt, the 
captain after reading it carefully, and meditating for a 
moment said: 

“Saul, you know it won’t do for me to go into the busi- 
ness of helping slaves to run away from their masters. 
It’s against the law, and I don’t like to engage in it. But 

(421) 


422 


Captain Bluitt 

it seems to me hard luck for a decent man like you not 
to be able to call his wife and his child his own, and I 
won’t mind very much if you get hold of them. I’ll tell 
you what I’ll do. Rufus is going down by the Broad 
Axe to get a few bushels of oats on Thursday morning, 
and if you choose to go along in the sleigh with the two 
horses and a lot of horse blankets, I’d just as lief you 
would. If the load of oats is not too heavy coming home 
and you happen to run across a couple of worthy people 
who would like to have a sleigh-ride, you and Rufus can 
just tell them to jump in. Do you understand?” 

On Thursday morning there was a brisk snow-storm , 
when Saul walked down the street to Captain Bluitt’s 
stable. The snow fell fast and the air was stinging cold. 
While Rufus hitched the two horses to the sleigh, and 
Saul filled the vehicle with straw upon which he placed 
three or four heavy blankets. Captain Bluitt came into 
the stable. 

“It’s all right, I reckon, Saul, to make this trip, but 
you’re going to have a cold ride and maybe a heavy 
storm. It might be wise to wait ’till to-morrow?” 

“Jes as you sez. Mars. Bluitt,” replied Saul, with a little 
sinking of the heart. “Jes’ as you sez, on’y. Mars. Bluitt, 
I’se willin’ to chanct it ef you an’ Rufus is. I doan’ min’ 
de col’ an’ dem bosses is good enough fo’ de wus storm 
dat kin come.” 

“O, well, go ahead,” said the captain. “But, Rufus,” 
he added, “if there is trouble on the roads coming back, 
turn in at one of the taverns or at Dr. Quelch’s and wait 
for the blow to be over.” 

Then the captain returned to the house, while Saul 
and Rufus, driving through the great double-door into 
the street, took places upon the only seat in the sleigh 
and with jingling bells drove the horses at a lively trot 
out towards the turnpike road that led to the Broad Axe. 

There was no trouble to make progression on the turn- 
pike, for the snow that had already been there was beaten 


42 ? 


Phoebe Goes Home 

down to a hard surface and the new-fallen snow was not 
very deep. But, as the journey continued, the snow came 
down in larger quantity, the wind gathered force, and 
the temperature continuously fell. 

By the time the team turned into Farmer Robinson’s 
lane, just beyond the Broad Axe, the storm had become 
almost fierce; and Rufus began to have misgivings. 

“Mind what I say, we don’t git back to no Turley this 
night, not if it keeps on snowin’ harder and harder like 
this,” said Rufus. 

Saul, filled with eager expectation of meeting his dear 
ones, had a dread of offending Rufus, so he only said: 

“O! it’ll soon blow ober. Dish yer storm ain’ so werry 
bad. We uns ’ll git home all right enough, Rufus, sholy.” 

The sleigh stopped in the shelter of the shed extend- 
ing from the side of Farmer Robinson’s barn, and Farmer 
Robinson himself, in great coat and hip-high boots, came 
from the front door, down from the porch and waded 
through the snow to the shed. 

“Is that thee Saul? How is thee Rufus? Hitch the 
horses there and blanket them, and then come into the 
kitchen. Saul, thee come right in now. There’s some 
one in there that wants to greet thee.” 

Saul leaped from the sleigh and walked toward the 
house while Farmer Robinson helped Rufus with the 
horses. 

As Saul came nearer and nearer to the door of the 
kitchen his heart beat fast; his breathing quickened until 
he panted; there was a queer feeling of dryness in his 
throat, and it seemed to him somehow as if it were not 
he that moved, but the objects about him. While he en- 
deavored to shake the snow from his boots upon the 
door-step, Mrs. Robinson opened the door and Liddy, 
Saul’s daughter, a child of thirteen years, sprang forward 
and, flinging ifer arms about his neck, kissed him again 
and again. 

“My gal! My dear liddle gal!” exclaimed Saul, em- 


424 Captain Bluitt 

bracing and kissing her. '1 declar’ to gracious but you’se 
growed! I wouldn’t a knowed you. My .Liddy! dat’s 
my gal! And where’s Mammy?” 

Phoebe sat in a rocking-chair in front of the wide fire- 
place and the blazing logs. As Saul came into the room 
she rose, feebly, holding fast for support to one of the 
arms of the chair. Her eyes were filled with tears. 

“My Saul!” she said. 

Saul, almost thrusting his daughter aside, leaped to- 
wards his wife and clasped her in his arms and kissed 
her. She sank almost at once into the chair. Saul, drop- 
ping upon his knees beside her, put his head upon her 
shoulder, while Liddy came to him and put her hand 
upon him. The white people who were present withdrew 
from the room. 

Phoebe stroked and patted the white head that lay upon 
her and said: 

“Yer I is honey! I’se come to yo’ at las’. I’se a free 
woman !” 

“My wife! My Phoebe!” 

“ ’Peared to me sometimes,” said Phoebe, “dat I’d 
neber see de sight o’ yo’ agin! I almos’ done stop a 
hopin’ ! But yer we is. Liddy an’ me, an’ yer’s my Saul. 
I’se prayed long fur dat. Yes I’se prayed. De Lawd he 
is gracious, dat’s jes’ a fac’! He is gracious.” 

“I bin a prayin’ too; an’ now you’s bofe o’ yo’ mine 
fo’ good an’ all. No mo’ partin’.” 

“I dunno, honey,” said Phoebe, “Pse jes’ a po’ ol’ 
wrack, good fo’ nuffin. I’se ’fraid I won’t stay long 
wid yo’.” 

“Ef yo’ a gwine to hebben I’se gwine too. But yo’ ain’ 
gwine, not now, anyways. Yo’ jes’ stay wid me.” 

“Pse not wuff much to yo’, Saul, Pse worned out.” 

“Dey sez yo’s wuff fo’teen hun’red dollahs, but yo’s 
wuff mo’n dat to me. I doan’ swap yo’ fo’ fo’teen million 
dollahs, no’ ten times dat needer.” 

“Dey done chase us hard, Saul. Dey is affer us now 


Phoebe Goes Home 425 

wid a hot foot. D’ yo' think dev ketch us honey^ Me 
an’ Liddy?” 

“No dey won’,” said Saul. You’se free an’ yo’ stays 
free. But yo’ can’ go wid us to-day ef you’se sick. Yo’ 
mus’ stay right yer. De col’ is bitter.” 

No, said Phoebe, “I doan’ wan’ to stay yer. I wan’ 
to go to your house, to my house wid yo’!” and the light 
seemed to come into her eyes as she put her arm around 
his neck and kissed him. 

“Kin yo’ stan’ de col’ Phoebe? I’se af eared.” 

“De col’s not so bitter as de whip an’ de ball an’ chain. 
I done Stan’ mo’n dat. I wan’ to go home, Saul. De 
storm ain’ nuffin. I doan’ min’ no storm. I wants Saul 
by me. Den dere’s peace.” 

“Is yo’ werry sick, Phoebe? What’s ailin’ yo’ honey?” 
Jes’ wonned out, I reckon, dat’s all. I’se been abused 
an’ de trampin’ an’ de bein’ hungry dey was hard. I’se 
not gwine to live long, Saul.” 

“Doan’ yo’ say no mo’ dat yo’ gwine to die. Yo’ 
gwine to live. Yo’ gwine to live along wid me ’twel 
you’se an ol’ woman.” 

“I’se an ol’ woman now, honey, an’ de en’ ain’ fer off. 
I’se clear gin out, wid it all.” 

Farmer Robinson and wife and Rufus came into the 
room. 

Rufus insisted upon starting homeward as soon as pos- 
sible. The roads were still open he thought and he said 
he might reach Turley in two or three hours. Farmer 
Robinson and his wife urged Saul to let Phoebe remain 
with them for a few days until she should be stronger. 
They said that Saul and Liddy could return in the sleigh. 
Saul consented to this, but Phoebe, thanking her host, 
declared that she would not stay. 

“Fse a gwine wid Saul. I’ll neber quit him no mo’ I” 
Saul would not contend against her. 

“Ef Miss Robinson kindly wrap her up warm, we put 
her in de straw right behin’ de seat o’ de sleigh and de 


426 Captain Bluitt 

win’ doan’ strike her dere. De win’s a shif’in’ any way, 
said he, looking through the window and permitting his 
wish to override plain evidence of the fact. 

So Rufus brought the sleigh to the door, and when 
Mrs. Robinson had wrapped Phoebe in blankets, Saul 
carried her to the sleigh, where she was snugly tucked in 
with Liddy. Saul and Rufus took their seats high in 
the front, and Rufus turned the horses into the lane that 
led down to the turnpike. Farmer Robinson and his wife 
watched them with many misgivings, but as the sleigh 
turned into the main road, they shut the door and took up 
the duties of the household. 

Instead of the wind shifting, as Saul had conjectured, 
it still blew steadily and much more strongly from the 
northwest. Coming from Turley, Rufus and Saul had 
driven with the wind. Returning, it blew in their faces, 
cold, strong and with gathering force. The snow fell 
more heavily and the drifts in the road were so many and 
so high and dense that, before the sleigh had gone a mile, 
Rufus began to be scared. The force of the wind was 
such that the snow upon the drifts was packed down as if 
it were clay and the sleigh could not penetrate them. It 
must ride over them or stop. 

And the storm became more and more furious as the 
minutes passed. The wind, it was afterwards learned, 
when the history of the great blizzard of that year was 
written, had a velocity of sixty miles an hour. The horses 
shrank from the fury of it and tried to turn their heads 
away. And soon the air seemed to be filled with minute 
particles of ice which stung the skin of the faces of Rufus 
and Saul, and deprived them of the power to see clearly. 
The roar of the wind, the blinding of the ice-mist, the 
biting force of the cold, the increasing difficulty of pro- 
gression and the effect upon the mind of the appalling 
possibilities of being lost in such a tempest, operated to 
bewilder in some measure the minds of the two men upon 
the sleigh. 


Phoebe Goes Home 427 

When five or six miles had been made, a huge drift 
obstructed the road completely. Rufus wanted to turn 
back, but Saul showed to him that this might be more 
perilous than to proceed. The way they had come was 
probably closed by this time. 

He suggested that the fence be torn down and that 
the sleigh go into the woods by the road-side. Jumping 
down, he discovered indications of a cart-road into the 
woods. 

'T dunno whar it is,’ said Saul, ‘Tut dat road leads to 
some fa’m house or ba’n, and dey ain’ no odder in sight.” 

^ Removing the rails, Saul led the way while Rufus with 
difficulty turned the horses into the field and then forced 
them along the cart-way into the woods. A moment 
later he felt relieved. Once fairly in among the densely- 
set trees, the fury of the wind was diminished, and though 
the ice morsels in the atmosphere still stung their faces, 
there was less violence in the attack. 

It was the middle of the afternoon, but the light, which 
was dim upon the turnpike, had almost vanished in the 
woods. The trees were cut, however, along the cart-way, 
so that, even in the diminished light, a kind of avenue 
could be perceived and followed. 

The horses pushed bravely on, tramping in deeper and 
deeper snow. There were no drifts, and so the way was 
not so hard. On and on and on went the sleigh, winding 
in and out among the trees, until it became more and 
more difficult to see the way. It seemed to Saul as if 
they had spent hours in following this path, which ap- 
peared to lead nowhere. He began to feel almost as if 
some supernatural power had entrapped them and that 
they would never see the open sky again. 

After a while, however, Rufus made an exclamation 
of joy. Right ahead the forest ended and there was an 
open space beyond. Rufus encouraged the horses and 
they plunged forward with greater speed. In a moment 
the sleigh emerged upon a hill-side. The ground fell 


428 Captain Bluitt 

away precipitously close to the edge of the wood and 
the sleigh could not go twenty feet further. Not a house 
or any kind of shelter could be seen ; nor a light, nor any- 
thing but the dark sky, the white snow, and the black 
forest behind the travelers. Rufus thought he saw the 
river far below and beyond them; but Saul insisted that 
he was mistaken. 

“We’s los’ ourselves,’^ said Saul. ‘‘We’s los^ dat’s 
sartin.” 

“But we can’t go back,” said Rufus, with despair in his 
voice. 

“Dat’s jes’ what we’s got to do,” said Saul. ''Kin yo’ 
back dem bosses an’ turn de sleigh aroun’?” 

Backing and turning, backing and turning, slowly and 
carefully in the deep snow, Rufus managed to head the 
horses toward the wood, which looked dark and dis- 
couraging. 

While the sleigh turned Saul walked by the side of 
it and put his hand upon Liddy, bundled in the blankets 
and lying in the straw. She was bright and cheerful. 

“How’s yo’ a doin’, Phoebe?” he asked of his wife. 

A feeble voice replied: 

“I’se col’, honey, werry, werry col’. Ain’ we nearin’ 
home? I’se near froze to def.” 

Saul took his overcoat from his shoulders and flung 
it around her. 

“Yes, we’s a nearin’ home. ’Twon’t be long now afore 
we’s dere.” 

Mounting the seat once more beside Rufus, Saul helped 
him to trace out the road-way through the woods. The 
tracks made by the sleigh upon its journey had been 
wholly covered, and there was naught to guide them but 
the opening between the trees and this became more 
indistinct in the deepening gloom. In truth, here and 
there other openings, first upon the right hand and then 
on the left, seemed to tempt to turn aside. But Rufus 
kept on in what he and Saul thought was the old way 


Phoebe Goes Home 429 

until, bumping* heavily over two or three snow-hidden 
stumps which nearly overset it, the sleigh stood still. The 
horses were face-to-face with a close-set group of trees. 
No passage could be found in that direction. 

Rufus began to cry. 

“Nevah you min’ man,” said Saul courageously, ^T’ll 
fin’ de way out.” 

Leaping from the sleigh he waded through the snow 
from side to side until he came to what he thought was 
the roadway from which just now they had turned aside. 

^‘Yer’s de. place,” he shouted, “yo’ mus’ turn aroun’ 
agin; but do it careful. Yes, sholy dis is de place.” 

It was with greatest difficulty that the sleigh, entangled 
among the trees, was turned by the horses, now them- 
selves dispirited. The storm raged always with increas- 
ing violence. Death seemed to be in that fierce blast, 
filled with congealed moisture, which beat upon the face 
while the cold threatened to deaden the nerves of every 
feature. 

But the sleigh at last was turned without accident, and 
once more the dismal journey forward was begun. 

Saul remained in the snow, leading the way. The 
exertion of walking in the drifts kept his body warm; 
but his soul was fast filling with fear. 

When the sleigh swung around into the opening which 
Saul had found, he walked ahead of it. In a few moments 
he raised his head and hallooed to Rufus. 

^‘Stop dere! Stop! Dis ain’ no road. Dis is wuss 
dan de oder. W’e’s los’ now, fo’ sure. I dunno which 
way to go.” 

Rufus stopped the horses. 

‘‘Stay right yer, Rufus,” said Saul, “an’ I’ll hunt aroun’ 
’twel I fin’ de right way out. It mus’ be somewheres 
’bout yer.” 

Saul turned to the right and went in among the trees, 
above which the wind roared with awful vehemence. As 
he plunged through the snow, looking as sharply as he 


4JO Captain Bluitt 

could in the gloom for the roadway, the verse of a hymn 
came into his mind and he said part of it to himself over 
and over again: 

“While the nearer waters roll 
While the tempest still is high/’ 

The words ‘‘While the tempest still is high’^ repeated 
themselves to him many, many times, as he half staggered 
along. His mind was less clear. The savage violence 
of the storm, the fatigue, the excitement, the dread fear 
for his wife, brought him into a condition not unlike 
semi-delirium. 

He could discern no roadway. He was going in the 
wrong direction. He turned about and moved toward the 
left of the position he had had when he parted from the 
sleigh. He felt sure, now, that he and his wife and child 
and Rufus would be frozen to death unless refuge could 
soon be found. He became less and less capable of find- 
ing the way out, but he tramped on, reeling now and 
then, falling once or twice, pulling himself forward, some- 
times by clutching saplings against which he came, and 
always with the words 

“While the tempest still is high” 

whirling through his mind. 

It seemed to him at last that he had walked thus for 
hours and over miles of snow, when, suddenly, a horse 
stood by him face to face, the horse panting hard. He 
heard also the jingling of bells as the horse stopped 
sharply. It was the horse of Dr. Quelch, who sat in the 
sleigh behind it, wrapped in a great-coat and with a scarf 
about his neck and ears, but wearing even amid that 
tempest of cold and ice the ruffled high silk-hat which 
came into active service during Jackson’s first adminis- 
tration. 

“Hello! Who’s that?” said Doctor Quelch. 


431 


Phoebe Goes Home 

^ Dat yo’, Mars. Quelch?” answered Saul. 

“Yes; who are you?” 

“Saul Tarsel, Mars. Quelch.” 

“Why, what are you doing here, Saul?” 

“Dyin’, I reckon!” 

“Why, man, what’s the matter? Here, throw this 
blanket around you.” 

“Done los’ our way; dead los’ it; an’ Phoebe lyin’ in de 
sleigh blin’ an’ nigh dead wid de col’.” 

“Lost your way! Why, you are not half a mile from 
my house.” 

“Dese is yo’ woods, den? Declar’ to gracious. Mars. 
Quelch, ol’ Saul’s head’s a spinnin’ ’roun’. I thought we 
was ten miles from home.” 

“Is Phoebe sick?” asked the physician. 

“Clean gi’n out. Mars. Quelch. I’se ’fraid she’s froze 
to def.” 

Dr. Quelch helped Saul into the sleigh and then giving 
Saul the lines to hold, the doctor leaped out and sought 
for Rufus. He was close by, almost paralyzed with cold 
and fear. 

Dr. Quelch gave him a cheering word and instructed 
him to follow the doctor’s sleigh. Rufus found his spirits 
and his courage reviving. He applied the whip to the 
horses. The doctor returned to his own sleigh and in 
ten minutes both sleighs were drawn into the doctor’s 
yard, where men were at hand to lend assistance. 

Liddy was lifted out first. Then the doctor and Saul, 
taking the great coat and a blanket from Phoebe, en- 
deavored to raise her to her feet. She was quite uncon- 
scious. Dr. Quelch shouted for help. One of his men 
came from the stable and from the house came Dr. Fro- 
bisher, who had been storm-stayed while visiting in the 
neighborhood a member of his congregation who was ill. 

Together the men carried the sick-woman into the 
house, and up into the guest-chamber, where she was 
placed upon the bed. The doctor gave her some brandy; 


4J2 Captain Bluitt 

then, after removing his outer garments and warming his 
hands, he returned to the bedside and began careful ex- 
amination of the patient. Saul and Liddy and Dr. Fro- 
bisher stood by watching him. 

Many minutes lapsed, and then Dr. Quelch, turning 
about and looking at Saul, said: 

“Saul, I am sorry for you; but I fear she can’t live.” 

Saul kneeled at the bedside and leaned over his wife. 

“Is yo’ gwine to leave me, Pheobe?” he asked. 

“Hoi’ my han’ deary,” replied Phoebe in a feeble voice, 
her eyes closed. 

“Yo’ ain’ gwine away from me, Phoebe, is yo’?” 

She seemed not to hear him. 

“I’se waited long fo’ yo’, Phoebe,” wailed Saul. “O ! 
ef de money I saved hadden slip away! I can’t spare 
yo’ ; no I can’t. Don’t leave me.” 

“Bought with a price !” whispered Phoebe. '‘Has yo’ 
hoi’ o’ my han’ Saul? I feels col’.” 

“Yo’s mine, Phoebe. Yo’s a free woman. God gave 
yo’ to me. ’Tain’t fair 1” 

Her mind wandered, and softly, as if to herself, she 
said: “Sweet fiel’s beyon’ de swellin’ flood! Sweet fiel’s 
beyon’ de — ” 

“The redeemed shall walk there,” said the minister 
solemnly, and with moistened eyes. 

“Yes, Marster,” said Phoebe, softly. “I knows yo’, I 
knows yer face! Yes! I’se Phoebe Tarsel.” 

“Doan’ yo’ know me, Phoebe ?” asked Saul. 

“Yes, honey, I knows yo’; but it’s kinder dark and 
gloomerin’. Is dat yo’ han’ Saul? Hoi’ me fas’; I’se 
slippin’ away somehow.” 

“Phoebe?” said Saul with a choked voice. 

“Yes, Marster!” she whispered. “Yes! I’se free. De 
colonel done made me free. How col’ dat win is! Saul! 
put yo’ coat aroun’ me. Ain’ no daylight yet, an’ de win’ 
a blowin’ bitter.” 


Phoebe Goes Home 43^ 

Dey ain no win’, Phoebe,” answered Saul. Pse yer, 

yo’» yer husban’.” 

Hoi my han , Saul! What’s dat hymn-singin’? 
Soun s mons’ous sweet. ‘Sweet fiel’s beyon’ de ’ ” 

Saul, weeping, began with a tremulous voice, as if in 
prayer, to repeat the words: 

“Jesus, lover of my Soul.” 

Saul!” exclaimed the dying woman. 

^ “I’se yer, honey.” 

“Say dat agin! Dat hymn.” 

“Jesus, lover of my Soul — ” 

Jesus! There was a spasm, a catching of the breath, 
the breast heaved, and then all movement ceased. 

‘ Dead!” said Dr. Quelch. “It is over, Saul.” 

“She is looking out upon the green fields,” said Dr. 
Frobisher, softly. “She has met her real Master.” 

The minister and the physician left the room and 
walked slowly down the stairs, entering Dr. Quelch’s 
library. 

“It is impossible for you to get home to-night, doctor,” 
said Dr. Quelch. “You must remain with me. We shall, 
no doubt, have the roads open by midday to-morrow if 
the storm blows itself out. Sit down.” 

The two men seated themselves in the arm-chairs in 
front of the fire that roared in the ancient fire-place. 

For a while neither spoke. The thoughts of both men 
were with the mourners in the room above. At last Dr. 
Quelch asked: 

“Where do you think she is, doctor?” 

“You mean the black woman? Phoebe? Where is 
she? Ah! that’s a mighty question.” 

“Isn’t it the one question? The nearer I come to the 
time when I shall solve it in the only way it can be solved, 
the more eager my curiosity is for the answer.” 

“You have no fear? No dread?” 


28 


434 Captain Bluitt 

“No, I outgrew that, long ago. That to which every 
living thing must submit cannot be terrible. Think of the 
feeble women, the little children, who have gone out into 
that seeming darkness! It would be worse than cowardly 
to fear. Men dread death only because it is mysterious. 
Put a man suddenly in a wholly dark place. His imagina- 
tion begins to play. He can persuade himself that all 
kinds of horrors are about him. Bring a light, and 
everything at once becomes commonplace. Death, of 
necessity, is commonplace. We shall be surprised, but 
will not our surprise be that we ever regarded a mere pro- 
cess of nature with fear?” 

“You have read Swedenburg’s description of the ex- 
perience of a dying and dead man ?” 

“Probably I have. I looked into his books many years 
ago, but I do not recall just that passage.” 

“Swedenburg declares that he passed through death 
long before his end really came, and that he was permitted 
to do so that he might tell his fellow-men what it is like.” 

“His notion, I think, is that the physical body encases 
an exactly similar full-length spiritual body?” 

“Yes; and he tells that when a man dies, his spiritual 
body is withdrawn from its encasement by the angels, 
just as one withdraws a sword from the sheath.” 

“Not incredible, is it?” 

“He relates that, even while he lived, he could some- 
times under certain conditions, hear his spiritual heart 
beat in union with his physical heart. He insists that a 
man, upon entering the spiritual world, is precisely the 
same man in form and character excepting that he has 
been stripped of his outer covering, and he indicates that 
most men are astonished to find how natural every- 
thing is.” 

“Nearly the same idea that I tried to express,” said 
Dr. Quelch. “But,” he continued, “I was not much 
attracted by Swedenburg’s description of the other world. 


Phoebe Goes Home 4^1^ 

It seemed to me, somehow, if I may be permitted to use 
the expression, a kind of wooden heaven.” 

“It is not particularly alluring as he depicts it, I must 
admit,” replied the minister. “But the relation is of re- 
markable interest; and if we could only believe it—!” 

\ es, if we could only believe it. I think he was an 
honest man.” 

“And of amazing intellectual power.” 

“But,” pid Dr. Quelch, “I remember that, as I read 
his narrative, I thought much of it perfectly reasonable, 
whilst much also in his descriptions of the other world 
was not only repulsive, but almost beyond the reach of 
credibility.” 

He was an honest man,” said the minister, “but I am 
sure he was the victim of delusion. But how he could 
have been mistaken through so many years and upon so 
large a scale is beyond my comprehension.” 

“There is nothing that I know of,” said Dr. Quelch, 
“to combat the theory that the whole length and every 
minute portion of the physical body contains a precisely 
correspondent but invisible spiritual body. That is just 
as likely, in my judgment, as the familiar theory that the 
soul is held within the confines of the skull.” 

“And the soul does actually, by one method or another, 
separate itself from the body.” 

“It does. You and I, a few moments ago, were in the 
very presence of that movement. While we looked, the 
negro-woman had a soul in her body, and a minute after- 
ward, the soul had parted and gone. Again I ask. 
Where? Where is the spirit world?” 

“Around us maybe,” suggested Dr. Frobisher. 

“Running right through this room, you think?” 

“Why not? If physical things are imperceptible to 
spiritual things and spiritual things to physical things, 
why should not the two spheres overlap and interlap, and 
each be as if the other were not?” 


4^6 Captain Bluitt 

“You think there is no intercommunication, then?'’ 

asked Dr. Quelch. . i 

“I do not want to pretend to speak positively about 
the matter, but I conjecture that there is not, unless when 
special permission is given by the Almighty, as I firmly 
believe it is sometimes.” 

“It is not your notion, then, that Phoebe is hovering 
about Saul and his child and will remain with them?” 

“Not at all. I think there is no solid ground for such 
belief.” 

“I don’t believe it either,” said Dr. Quelch. “But what 
have you to say about their reunion in Heaven?” 

“That I am sure of,” said the clergyman. 

“Sure of it?” 

“Yes; sure.” 

“I wish I could be.” 

“You believe the Scriptures, don’t you?” asked Dr. 
Frobisher, 

“Yes; but they give me no help upon that point.” 

“Why, surely they do.” 

“Where, for example?” 

“ T shall go to him,’ said David. 

“But how did David know?” 

“He was inspired,” said the minister.” 

“You cannot say that that particular utterance was in- 
spired.” 

“Over and over again the Scriptures speak of men as 
‘gathered to their fathers;’ and then we know that Moses 
and Elijah perfectly retained their identity and were 
recognized when on the Mountain of Transfiguration they 
reappeared.” 

“But both men left the earth, if the story is to be be- 
lieved, under quite exceptional circumstances, and the 
phrase ‘gathered to their fathers,’ seems to me to be a 
conventional saying founded upon faith and not at all 
upon revelation.” 

“No other scriptural suggestions occur to me at this 


Phoebe Goes Home 437 

moment, but I am confident they can be found. There 
is the story of the Rich Man and Lazarus, for example.’’ 

The most hopeful thing" in the Bible, bearing on this 
matter; but, after all, you do not know surely that the 
narrative represents an actual occurrence.” 

“Perhaps not.” 

“Doctor,” said the physician, “many years ago, in 
thinking upon this subject, I turned to the Scriptures for 
information and I was surprised and grieved to find that 
there is not, in the whole book, one word upon which a 
man may confidently lean the hope that those that love 
each other will meet again in Heaven.” 

“Are you not mistaken?” 

“No, and for me it has long been in a degree distressing 
to know that in a book which is filled with promises that 
are precious, there is not anything even remotely re- 
sembling a promise concerning the gratification of the 
most passionate desire of the human heart; not anything. 
Why was this left out?” 

“To make our faith stronger, for example.” 

“Faith! A man’s faith may rest upon a promise, but 
what shall it rest upon when there is no promise? It is 
all conjecture — conjecture amid black darkness.” 

“But you believe in reunion, do you not?” 

“I wish to believe in it. In fact, I suppose that down 
in my inmost soul I do believe in it. Possibly I might 
better express the truth if I should say I hope for it. I 
shall know all about it before very long.” 

“You will probably live for years to come, doctor,” 
said the minister.” 

“I think not,” replied Dr. Quelch. “I am growing 
old. The time must be short. Nearly everybody I cared 
for in my early manhood has gone. Did you know Parry 
who died on Thursday of last week, over at the Blue 
Bell?” 

“I knew him slightly.” 

“We were boys together. He was the last of the men 


438 Captain Bluitt 

who could call me Tom. They are all gone. But now/* 
said the physician, “let us talk of matters less painful. 
What is to be done with this girl of Saul’s? Will they 
try to take her back to slavery?” 

‘T am sure I do not wish that she should go back,” 
answered the minister, “but I do not perceive how we 
can rightly hold her unless we buy her from her owner.” 

“You think his right to her is a better right than her 
right to herself, or the father’s right to her?” 

“The law says that it is.” 

“Yes, the law! But whose law?” 

“The law of this land.” 

“Do you really believe that a group of men in a legis- 
lature can possess the right to say to one man: ‘You may 
own another man?’ ” 

“It has been done.” 

“True, but I often wonder where a human being who 
has a natural right to own himself, and whose right stops 
just there, acquired authority to deprive another human 
being of the right also to own himself.” 

“ W ell, slavery has existed ever since history began.” 

“So has wrong of every kind.” 

“And the Scriptures appear to give it some sort of 
sanction.” 

“You lean somewhat upon Onesimus, I suppose?” 

Dr. Frobisher smiled: “I admit,” said he, “that 
Onesimus may have been a little bit overworked in that 
connection. But don’t you think it is our duty to obey 
even an unjust law?” 

“Not if the law overturns and tramples upon primary 
and inalienable rights. Would you resist an act of Con- 
gress which should try to compel you to become an 
idolator?” 

“Surely.” 

“Why then give the consent of obedience to a law 
which denies to a man the right of ownership of his body 
and of his power to labor? It is monstrous, this theory 


Phoebe Goes Home 


4?9 


that we must assent to a doctrine so revolting because 
other men are weak enough and wicked enough to em- 
body it in legislative enactment/' 

“It is, however, a question after all, whether slavery 
has not been a good thing for the negro/’ 

“I do not deny that an American slave who gets his 
freedom may be better off than a savage negro in the 
wilds of Africa; but the crime that made him a slave is 
not less hideous and the outrage of the most sacred of 
human rights is not less scandalous.” 

“No doubt there is much to complain of,” answered 
the clergyman, “and no doubt we should be well rid of 
the system if we could be rid of it, but it is here, and the 
method of overthrowing it is not clearly apparent; and, 
anyhow, I guess if the truth were known, we should find 
that most of the blacks are better off in slavery than they 
would be in freedom.” 

“Tarsel, for example?” 

“He may be an exception. He is quite able to take 
care of himself.” 

“His wife and daughter?” 

“Well, it was hard that he should be separated from 
them. I have no apology to make for that.” 

“You imagine that the slaves, upon the whole, are quite 
comfortable and happy?” 

“I have always heard that they are.” 

“Come up stairs with me for a moment,” said Dr. 
Quelch. 

The two men ascended to the room where the dead 
woman lay. Saul sat upon a chair weeping and Liddy 
was upon his lap. 

Dr. Quelch advanced to the bed, and lifting the cover- 
ing at the foot for a little distance, showed Phoebe’s 
ankle. Around it was an iron-band from which depended 
the link of a chain. The flesh was lacerated and bruised 
where the band had chafed it, and the link had beaten 
against the foot. 


440 Captain Bluitt 

‘^Becky Slifer told me of that. That is slavery/’ said 
Dr. Quelch, “that is the torment inflicted by it upon a 
wife who would be joined to the husband to whom God 
would have her joined! I tell you doctor, God will make 
of this nation inquisition for the blood thus shed and in 
other ways shed at the demand of the slavery-laws.” 

“It is dreadful!” answered Dr. Frobisher, as the two 
men passed from the room and walked down the stairs. 

“Yes, dreadful!” answered Dr. Quelch. “I have sworn 
enmity against the system. I will fight it, law or no law, 
so long as I have life! The girl shall never go back to 
her master, never!” 

“Perhaps we can arrange to buy her!” 

“Not with my money. I will spend all I have to keep 
her free, but I will never give a dollar of purchase-money 
for the ransom of any slave/’ 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


Due North 



AUL sat in the lower room of his little house, in 
front of the log-fire with Liddy by his side. 


“Come up dost, Liddy,” he said as he drew her 
near to him and put his arm about her. “Come up 
dost and tell me all about Mammy. Some folks sez how 
de speerits o’ de dead folks come back yer an’ knows us, 
but I doan’ believe Mammy’s yer, does yo’ Liddy?” 

“I dunno,” said Liddy, “Mammy’d come ef she could, 
but I dunno’s I want her to come ef we can’t see her.” 

“Dat’s jes’ it, Liddy. Dat’s jes’ it. How’s she gwine 
to be happy to come in yer an’ watch us a cryin’, an’ 
can’t say no wud to us? It’s agin good sense. I b’lieve 
she’s jes’ a ressin’ joyful in dat glory-lan’ an’ a waitin’ 
dere fo’ me an’ Liddy. Dat’s what I b’lieve. She’s jes’ 
a sayin’ to herself ‘ ’Tain’t long afo’ Saul’ll jine me, an’ 
affer a while Liddy’ll come too.’ Dat’s what she’s a 
sayin’ to herself in de glory-lan’; an’ we’s gwine to come 
Liddy, dat’s sartin. We isn’t gwine to disapp’int her 
nohow, is we Liddy?” 

“No,” said Liddy, “no we isn’t.” 

“She’s not a gwine to forgit us, an’ we’s not a gwine 
to forgit her, is we? We’ll talk about her all de time, 
an’ pray about her, an’ de time’ll roll ’roun’ swif’ an’ de 
love’s not gwine to git col’ no mo’ dan my love git col’ 
whiles she was way down Gawgia. Didden I love her 
mo’ an’ mo’ all de time she a slave in de fur Souf? An’ 
wheffore I gwine to stop lovin’ her when she’s a free 
woman in de hebens? Dey ain’t no reason, is dere, 
Liddy?” 


442 


Captain Bluitt 

“ ^Twould seem mo’ real ef we could oncet hear her 
voice,” said Liddy, “but I reckon we kin jes’ wait.” 

“Jes’ wait, Liddy, dat’s it; jes’ wait! I’se useter waitin’. 
I’se waited long, an’ now’ she’s happy I kin wait longer. 
Was dey werry hard on her Liddy, down on de plan- 
tation?” 

“Dey done treat her bad,” said Liddy. De fus’ time 
affer dat Slifer woman come to de cabin, de oberseer he 
heered Mammy a talkin’ ’bout runnin’ off, so he tuk her 
out an’ whipped her an’ den he put de ball an’ chain on 
her foot an’ he say ‘I’ll teach yo’, yo’ niggah, to talk o’ 
runnin’ away. Yo’ stay right yer now.’ An’ so Mammy 
she creeped aroun’ more ’n a week wid dat ball an’ chain, 
an’ when Becky Slifer ready, she ’n I put de co’n pone 
an’ de bacon in a bun’le an’ start a walkin’ in de night 
while Mammy carry de ball sometimes an’ sometimes I 
carry it. We walk all dat night jes’ as fas’ as we could 
walk, an’ by de mawnin’ we’s in de woods ’way off, an’ 
Becky gits two big stones an’ lays de chain on one an’ 
smash it wid de odder ’twel she break it. But dey can’t 
git de iron ban’ ’roun’ her ankle loose, an’ Mammy jes’ 
kep’ a wearin’ it ’twel it tuk de skin offen her.” 

“Whiles we’s a layin’ low in de woods we hear de 
dogs a cornin’ affer us, an’ we was bad skeered; but 
Becky she sez ‘you nebber min’ dem dogs. Gimme some 
o’ dat pone an’ bacon;’ an’ so when de dogs does come a 
jumpin’ ober de bresh, Becky she calls ’em sof’ an’ hoi’s 
out de vittals an’ de dogs tuk ’em an’ et ’em an’ run on.” 

“Dey won’ chase her no mo’ now, Liddy, dem dogs, will 
dey?” said Saul. 

“Den, de fus thing we knows, we hears de bosses’ foots 
a trampin’ on de pike an’ we gits flat down in de bresh 
an’ sure ’nuf, dare come de oberseer and two odder men 
an’ dey was a talkin’ loud an’ big ’bout de niggahs dey 
ketched, an’ how dey’s boun’ to ketch Mammy an’ me, 
an’ den dey’d fus whip de life outen us an’ sell us to 
Texas fo’ good fo’ nuffin niggahs.” 


443 


Due North 

*^But we jes* lay low twel dey go by an’ den we run 
fo de big co’n fiel’ an’ git to de middle an’ hide behin’ 
de shocks.” 

“When de night come oncet mo’, Becky she show de 
way by de cross-road ober a kin’ o’ mountain, an ’we go 
along dere in de da’k, up de hill an’ ober de stones, ’twel 
Mammy she jes’ ’bout done out, an’ she say she can’t 
go no furder ’twel de daylight. It so da’k dat dey ain’t 
a star a shinin’ an’ you can’t see yer own han’. Dat’s 
how brack it was. An’ Mammy she git a cryin’ an’ say 
’tain’t no use to try to git free.” 

“Dey ain’ no night, dough, whar she is now, nor no 
cryin’, is dere Liddy,” said Saul, weeping. 

“But Becky she say ‘cheer up, we’ll git dere all right,’ 
an’ sure ’nuff dat minute she come to a liddle cabin an’ 
knock sof’ on de do’, an’ a brack man he open it a liddle 
crack. ‘Who’s dere?’ sez he. ‘Becky,’ sez she. Den he 
laugh an’ draw us in an’ blow out de light an’ tuk Mammy 
an’ me in de back-room. Den Mammy she fall down 
on de flo’ an’ de man he gib her a dram an’ Becky rub 
her an’ de fus thing yo’ know she come to. Dey gib us 
some vittals an’ water an’ den we go to sleep.” 

“Dere we stay two days. Mammy a ressin’ an’ a tryin’ 
to git strong an’ de man a keepin’ good watch outen de 
windy. But dey ain’ chase us up on de mountain. Too 
far outen de way I ’spec’.” 

“Den we starts off agin in de night. Mammy a feelin’ 
better, but still mons’ous weak, an’ her leg a hurtin’ her, 
an’ so we go on all de night an’ lay in de woods all de 
day an’ walk all de nex’ night. We et up de vittals an’ 
Becky she afeared to go to beg any, an’ so befo’ de 
mawnin’ come we’s hungry ’nuff to eat de aco’ns.” 

“Mammy ’ll be hungry no mo’ now, Liddy; dat’s what 
de Book sez Liddy, dem werry wuds; ‘hungry no mo’.’ ” 

“So, den, we kern outen de woods to de ribber bank — 
a big ribber — an’ dere unner de bushes was a boat wid 
de paddles. But we mus’ git food or Mammy ’ll die an’ 


444 Captain Bluitt 

i des as hungry as a wil’ cat. So Becky she creep aroun 
twel she fin’ a brack man’s cabin an’ come back wid some 
pone an’ roassed sweet taters. Den Mammy she go to 
sleep in de leaves an’ bresh behin’ a big tree dat had 
fallen. She almost too weak to stan’. But when de da’k 
come, a brack man dat Becky know, he bring us to de 
boat an’ we git in an’ he try to paddle us ’cross.” ^ 

“De current mighty swif’, so, lo an’ behol’, when we’s 
half way ’cross, de water swing de boat aroun’ an’ fus’ 
thing we know dere we was fas’ on a san’ bar. De man 
he push an’ push, an’ jump out in de water an’ push, but 
’twan’t no good. Mammy den pray an’ pray dat we git 
off, an’ sure ’nuff, de boat swing loose an’ befo’ de mawn- 
in’ come we run agin de sho’. Befo’ we could git out, de 
boat sink an’ we all wet and de water froze on us so we 
stiff an’ col’ wid de ice.” 

“But Becky she know what she’s ’bout; so we walk a 
liddle way’s up de bank to de spot whar we’d a gone ef 
de current hain’t tuk us away an’ dere sure ’nuff a ker- 
ridge a waitin’ an’ dey liffed Mammy in, an’ Becky an’ I 
git in, an’ in a liddle time we come to a gran’ house whar 
white man live. Becky she say dis a station on Unner- 
groun’ Railroad. Mons’ous nice station, anyway; an’ 
a nice ol’ white gemman an’ lady jes as kin’ as ef we 
white people an’ dere own kin. Dey put Mammy in 
splen’id bed, good as de bes’ in Mars. Beckersteth’s house 
an’ dey gib her med’cine an’ fed her an’ cried ober her 
twel it seem ’sif dey was jes’ like dem angels.” 

“An’ de leddy she gimme good clothes an’ fix me up 
so’s I’d a been happy ef Mammy ’d on’y git well. An’ 
de leddy say to me 'Neber yo’ min’ dem slave-hunters. 
We’ll tek care o’ yo’ an’ git yo’ free.’ ” 

“So, den, we stay dere six or seben day twel Mammy 
feel better an’ den one night we git in a wagon an’ go 
all night to anudder fine house an’ de nex’ night to 
anudder an’ all de nights a movin’ on twel we come to 
de house down yer at Broad Axe, whar Daddy met us 


Due North 


44 ? 

wid de sleigh; an’ Mammy she was tuk bad, but she kep 
a sayin’ ‘We’ll soon see Saul, Liddy; we’ll soon see him 
Liddy, an’ dat’ll be joyful!’ an’ dat kin’ o’ kep’ her up 
twel de las’.” 

“An’ she did see me Liddy; she did, sure an’ sartin. 
She seen me an’ she’ll see me agin. Yes, dey ain’t want- 
in’ mercy to keep me from seein’ her agin, is dere Liddy?” 

“I’se a gwine to stay yer wid yo’,” said Liddy, “an’ 
I’ll do my bes’ fer yo’ ’stead o’ Mammy.” 

The old man put his arms about her and kissed her. 

“Dat yo’ will, my gal; yo’ll jes’ stay right yer, an’ put 
me in min’ all de time o’ Mammy. You’se de werry 
figger o’ her, anyway. Yo’ stays right yer wid me; an’ 
yo’ mus’ git some lamin’ Liddy. Dat’s de reason de 
white folks has de bes’ o’ us — dey has lamin’. Yo’ can’ 
read, Liddy, can yo’?” 

“I knows de letters. Miss Alice up at de big house, 
she teached ’em to me.” 

“Dat’s mighty nice, but yo’ doesn’t know no spellin’, 
like spellin’ ‘boy’ an’ Mog’ an’ dem kin’ o’ wuds, does yo’ 
my gal?” 

“Nebber knowed nuffin like dat.” 

“Yo’ mus’ go to school den, Liddy, like dem white 
chilluns an’ learn de gography an’ dem t’ings.” 

“What’s dat gography?” 

“Why, dey tells me de earf is roun’ ’stead o’ flat, ac- 
cordin’ to dat gography.” 

“Which earf? Dish yer earf we a stannin’ on?” 

“Dish yer werry earf! I dunno how ’tis m’self, but 
dat’s what dey sez Liddy. Dey sez dis yer earf ain’ flat, 
but roun’ like a ball. An’ dey sez dat de sun not a goin’ 
roun’ an’ roun’ de earf, but de earf goin’ roun’ an’ roun’ 
de sun. Dat’s too much fur me ; but dat’s ezzackly what 
de white folks sez in de gography.” 

“I doan’ b’lieve it,” said Liddy. “Ain’ de groun’ flat, 
an’ doan’ I see de sun a risin’ an’ a movin’ roun’?’ 

Dems de werry wuds I say to Dockker F’obisher my 


446 Captain Bluitt 

own self, but he 'sis’ dat de worl' is roun' an' de' sun 
doan’ move; an’ he a werry wise man, dat minister. He 
got mo’ books dan yo’ kin count, an’ he’s read ’em all 
clar frou; some of ’em readin’ in some kin’ o’ queer lan- 
guage dat odder men can’ read at all. An’ den dere’s de 
’rithmetic. Does yo’ know dem figgers Liddy?” 

“Dunno no figgers.” 

“Dey ask you in de school how many eight an’ eight 
makes an’ de liddle chilluns dey knows befo’ de wuds 
fairly outen de mouf.” 

'‘Eight an’ eight, dey makes nine,” said Liddy. 

“Dat’s wrong! Dat’s wrong, sure an’ sartin my gal; 
so you’s to go to dat school an’ git right lamin’, an’ fin’ 
out all ’bout dat mullipication table dat de chilluns hab.” 

“What’s dat?” 

“Dunno. I bin dere manys de time whiles dey’s a doin’ 
it, but doan’ see no table ; but dey sez dere was one. It’s 
like de earf I reckon; we doan’ see de roun’ cause it look 
flat. But when yo’ go to school, Liddy, yo’ larn dem 
wisdoms an’ yo’ larn to write so’s yo’ kin write a letter 
to yo’ Daddy.” 

There was a sharp knock at the door. Saul sprang to 
his feet, but before he reached the door, Dr. Quelch 
opened it and entered. 

“Saul,” he said, “your little girl must come with me 
quickly. Throw a shawl aboutdier, right away.” 

“What’s de matter now Mars. Quelch?” asked Saul in 
alarm. 

“Those Georgia people who chased your wife are here 
and they are trying to get your girl; they are taking out 
a warrant to search your house. Don’t lose a minute.” 

A shawl was thrown over the child’s head, and she was 
led out through the back garden to the side street. Dr. 
Quelch had her kneel down in the buggy and put her 
face on the seat. Then he threw a lap cover over her and 
taking the reins he said : 

“I’ll take good care of her Saul till the men go away. 


447 


Due North 

She’ll be safe and sound at my house. Don’t come out 
there to see her until I send you word. You’ll have her 
back again soon, to stay. Good-bye.” 

The doctor drove away rapidly along the street and 
then, beyond the town, into the darkness. 

Saul slowly returned to his cabin and closed the door. 
The knowledge that Liddy was safe so gladdened him 
that the sorrow of parting and of absence was overborne. 
He took again his seat by the fire; but in a few mo- 
ments, there was another knock at the door, and three 
men thrust it open and came in. Two were men who 
had followed the fugitives from the South. The third 
was the constable of Turley town. 

“Where’s that gal?” said the overseer, looking around 
and speaking with the tone of a man used to managing 
niggers. 

“What gal?” asked Saul. 

* That gal o’ yourn. Now, you nigger, I know you’ve 
got her here and the quicker you produce her the better 
it’ll be for you. Where is she?” 

“Dey ain’ no gal yer,” said Saul. 

“What’s that?” said the overseer, advancing. “Don’t 
tell me any of your lies. Where is she?” and he seized 
Saul by the arm and shook him. 

The negro turned on him fiercely. 

“Doan’ yo’ lay yo’ han’ on me, Marster! Doan’ yo’ 
dare lay yo’ han’ on me! I’se a free man, I is. I ain’ no 
slave-nigger. Keep yo’ han’ offen me er dere’ll be 
trouble. I done stan’ ’nuff. Doan’ yo’ tech me agin!” 

“Boys,” said the man, “search the house. ’Tain’t pos- 
sible that any o’ them nigger-stealing abolitionists have 
got ahead of us. Rout out the whole place and find the 
gal.” 

Saul sat again upon his chair in front of the fire. He 
looked neither to the right hand nor to the left while the 
visitors explored the three small rooms and the cellar. 
Nor did he move or speak, when, the ineffectual search 


448 Captain Bluitt 

being ended, the overseer came up to him and shaking his 
fist in the negro’s face, said, with an oath: 

“I’ll have that gal yet, you nigger! I’ll have her yet 
and I hope I’ll have a chance to put you in jail for steal- 
ing her.” 

Then the three men withdrew, slamming the door after 
them. 

For a few moments Saul walked up and down the little 
room with a radiant face. 

“Dey did n’ ketch her! No suh! dey did n’ ketch her! 
Dat’s a smart man, dat good Dockker Quelch — dey doan’ 
do no triflin’ wid him! N^o suh! He beat dem at dat 
game, he did, sure ’nuff! Dey didden ketch my Liddy, 
dem slave-ketchers!” 

Then he sat upon his chair again and putting his 
elbows upon his knees and his face in his hands, he fell 
to weeping. 

Two days later, Rufus Potter came early to the cabin 
and said: 

“Say, Saul, the cap’n wants to see you, right away. 
The old man has sumpin’ on his mind to tell you. Better 
come along quick.” 

Saul walked with Rufus to Captain Bluitt’s house and 
found the captain waiting for him in the sitting room. 

“Good morning, Saul,” said the captain. 

“Mawnin’, Mars. Bluitt,” responded Saul, bowing low, 
with his hat in his h^nd. 

“Saul, they tell me those fellows from the South have 
been chasing your daughter to take her back to slavery?” 

“Yes, Marster, yes suh, dey done try to fin’ her in my 
house, but she wa’nt dere. Mars. Bluitt dat ’fl kill me 
sure ef dey gits her. De ol’ man’s heart mos’ broken 
anyway. I doan’ live, Mars. Bluitt, ef dey gits her.” 

“Well, they won’t get her. ‘ She’s just as free this 
minute as I am. Read that,” and Captain Bluitt handed 
him a paper. 


Due North 


449 


Saul took it and looked at it and turned it about and 
said : 

“Scuse me, Mars. Bluitt, but I can’t read dat. Fse 
good at readin’ readin’, but not so werry good at readin’ 
writin’.” 

All right, Saul, said the captain. ^‘Put the paper in 
your pocket and keep it safe. Last night I sent for that 
overseer and I said to him: ‘Look here, what^s that 
Tarsel girl worth?’ ‘She’s worth good six hundred dol- 
lars,’ said he. ‘Well,’ said I, ‘you can’t get her without 
for her, and I don t believe you can get her 
anyhow, fighting or no fighting. I’ll tell you what I’ll 
do: can you give a bill of sale for her?’ ‘Yes,’ said he. 
‘Well,’ said I, ‘if you’ll take three hundred dollars cash 
down for her, and give me papers that’ll free her out and 
out, you can put the money in your pocket in five minutes. 
You’ll save on that. It’ll cost you three hundred dollars 
to put the case through the courts and you’ll likely lose 
both the girl and your money.’ ‘I’ll take it,’ said he. So 
I drew a check and he made out the papers and there they 
are! Your girl is nobody’s girl but yours. The Romans 
had slavery, and it seemed all right, but hang me if I can 
stand the kind of thing you’ve had to suffer, Saul.” 

The old negro dropped upon his knees and blinded by 
tears tried to seize the captain’s hand to kiss it. 

“Never mind that, my friend. That’s all right. You 
deserve more than I can do for you,” said the captain. 
Puella sitting by the fire-side had her handkerchief to 
her eyes. 

“Mars. Bluitt,” said Saul, rising, “I thanks yo’ werry 
much; werry, werry much. God bless yo’ Mars. Bluitt, 
God bless yo’ Marster! Dat’s all I knows how to say. 
Dey ain’t nufifin dat I won’t do fer yo’; not nuffin, no’ 
fer Miss Bluitt needer.” 

And Saul withdrew and went home with joyful step. 
His daughter met him at the door. 


29 


4JO Captain Bluitt 

He threw his arms about her and kissed her passion- 
ately, and while both of them wept he said: 

“You^s a free gal, Liddy! did yo’ know dat? Yes as 
free as I is! Dey can’t tech yo’, or tek yo’ ’way frum me 
no mo’. My gal! My dear liddle gal! You’ll nebber 
quit me Liddy, nebber, nebber, twel I’m called to go to 
be wid Mammy!” 

That call, if he could have known, was not to be long 
delayed. 


CHAPTER XXIX 
Three Twos are Three 

O N the evening of the day when Captain Bluitt 
gave to Saul Tarsel the paper that made Liddy 
Tarsel free, the captain sat in his library with 
his sister, giving indications that he had some- 
thing upon his mind which he would like to impart to 
her. He seemed to find the task difficult. He poked 
the fire ; then he shut the door that opened into the 
hall; then he turned the Penates upon the mantel-piece 
so that they would look at the Lar, and in a moment 
moved them again so that they would look at Puella. 
Then he got up and opened the hall-door, poked the 
fire once more, wound up his watch, pretended to turn 
down the lamp, brushed a fleck of dust from the table- 
cover, and at last settled firmly down in his chair with 
the air of a man who has succeeded in resolving to do a 
disagreeable duty that must be done. 

‘Tuella,'^ said the captain, gently tapping the arm of 
his chair with the palm of his hand, “I have a little ex- 
planation to make to you which I — I — ^ah — tru.st you will 
receive with that affectionate consideration for me that 
you have always exhibited.’’ 

‘'What is it brother?” asked Puella, tranquilly. 

“Why you see, Puella, life is full, very full, of changes 
of various kinds and we can’t reasonably expect — now 
can we? — ^that you and I shall just drift along here in the 
old way forever and ever and have things remain precisely 
as they have been. Our turn has to come, doesn’t it?” 
“Very likely.” 

“Well then, what I am going to say to you refers to 

(451) 


4J2 Captain Bluitt 

a slight, very slight, modification of our situation here, 
one that I am sure you will accept good-humoredly, as 
you always have done when I have proposed things before 
and will adjust yourself to in a way that will make it 
possible for our home to continue to be a place of hap- 
piness and affection.” 

“I will try,” said Puella. 

‘‘Do you remember, my dear, what it was Caesar said 
to Calphurnia when he was about to marry her, to the 
effect that — ?” 

“No, I don’t remember.” 

“I have been trying to recall it, but it has slipped my 
mind somehow. It was to the general effect, I think, 
that it is better for a man not to be alone, or it ran more 
or less along that line; or maybe it wasn’t Caesar but 
somebody else said it, and anyhow the general sentiment 
conveys a truth which seems to me to have weight 
enough to deserve attentive consideration.” 

“Well?” 

Captain Bluitt took his left leg from his right leg, 
crossed his right leg over his left leg, cleared his throat 
and proceeded: 

“Very well, then; better not to be alone. I am in a 
sense alone. Of course you and I are together and you 
are very dear indeed to me, dearer than I can well ex- 
plain; but after all, the fraternal tie, if I may use that 
expression, is wanting in some of the tenderer qualities 
that characterize the conjugal relation.” 

“Yes,” said Puella. 

“In short,” said Captain Bluitt, with a little nervous 
laugh, “I am seriously considering marriage.” 

“Indeed!” said Puella, without showing great surprise. 

“Yes; and while I am most anxious that my — ah — 
that is to say, the woman who is to be my wife, shall be 
completely acceptable to you and congenial to you, of 
course we can’t always just manage these things in the 
way we wish, and I really have some fear that my — ah — 


Three Twos are Three 4^^ 

my intended is not a person you care for very much. 
But I know your affection for me will induce you to try 
to live with us in love, harmony and peace.” 

“Who is she?” 

“Well, it is Florabella Burns! Now don’t say you 
dislike her or that you will leave me if I marry, or that 
you are too much astonished to know your own mind. 
Don’t say that!” 

“No, I am not a bit astonished.” 

“You’re not?” 

‘ Why no !” said Puella, “I knew you were going to 
marry her; knew it all along.” 

Puella! You didn’t? Who told you?” 

“Now brother! You stupid sailor. Do you suppose 
you can go around flirting with a woman in this town and 
everybody not know it?” 

“Flirting, Puella? Not flirting?” 

“O, well, courting then. I saw the entire campaign, as 
plainly as if it had been carried on in our parlor — plainer.” 

“I had no idea you noticed it,” said the captain, “but 
now you do know it you are reconciled to it, aren’t you^” 
“Yes.” 

“And you will stay with us, of course?” 

“No, I think not.” 

“You won’t? O, come, now; if you go away I shall 
be dreadfully hurt, and so will Florabella, for we shall 
know you are angry.” 

“Not a bit angry, brother. I am going to be married 
too.” 

“What! You! You going to marry, Puella! That is 
perfectly astonishing.” 

“Not any more than the fact that you are to marry 
is it?” 

“Excepting that I never had the smallest suspicion of 
such a thing.” 

“Men are always stupid about such matters. I told 
Irwin I knew you suspected nothing.” 


4J4 Captain Bluitt 

‘‘Irwin? Irwin? Is that the man’s name? What 
Irwin?” 

“Irwin McGann, of course.” 

“You don’t say so! Well, well, well! Irwin McGann! 
You are going to marry him!” 

“Certainly.” 

The captain meditated for a moment upon this surpris- 
ing revelation and then he said: 

“Well, I suppose it is all right, Puella. You are grown 
up and know what you are about. Irwin McGann! Well, 

I declare! Well, he is a good fellow in some ways.” 

“I should think so.” 

“Yes, an honest man, non est inventuSy as the Romans 
said— an honest inventor; but, Puella, he’ll make your 
money fly with his patent machines.” 

“I shall control that myself,” said Puella with dignity. 
“Irwin has agreed to spend no more than a fixed sum for 
patents and I am not only willing but eager to have him 
exercise his really wonderful talent for the benefit of his 
fellow man.” 

“Very well,” said the captain, “but you will have to 
hold him in.” 

“He is perfectly reasonable,” answered Miss Bluitt. 
“He has been unfortunate; that is all. But I am abso- 
lutely certain he will succeed with his new non-explosive 
steam-boiler.” 

“Boiler! Is he getting up a boiler?” 

“A non-explosive boiler; perfectly non-explosive! It 
will revolutionize steam-power, he says, and I am sure 
of it. I have examined -it.” 

Captain Bluitt slowly shook his head, as if his mind 
were still open to conviction upon the subject. 

“I don’t know, Puella,” he said, “maybe it won’t blow 
up and maybe it will.” 

“You can’t blow it up; positively can’t.” 

“Well, Puella, I’m sure I don’t want to try. My only 
hope is that McGann — that is Irwin^ — won’t blow up your 


Three Twos are Three 4^^ 

fortune. Take my advice and when he gets to the end of 
your appropriation for patents, cut off the supplies; take 
him away to Europe, or mesmerize him or something. 
The man means well, but he lacks balance.’" 

“I will balance him,” said Miss Bluitt, with gentle 
firmness. 

“All right. I will welcome him into our family, and I 
will stand by you if you get into trouble; but, Puella, if 
I were you 1 would try to divert his mind from invention. 
Can’t you persuade him to write a novel, or to accept a 
consular position under the government, or to run for 
Congress, or to try again to get into the ministry, or 
something? It would be safer.” 

“We will confer about it when we are married,” an- 
swered Miss Bluitt. 

“I must tell Florabella of your engagement,” said the 
captain. 

“Do; but I suspect she knows of it already. I shall 
welcome her and trust she will be perfectly cordial with 
Irwin.” 

“She will love him like a brother,” answered the cap- 
tain, confidently. 

“Where will you live?” asked Captain Bluitt. “You 
will be perfectly welcome to stay here, if, if—” 

“My thought Was,” said Puella, “that if Florabella came 
here we could take her house and find happiness there.” 

“Good! Very good!” 

“And then Irwin could move his studio from its pres- 
ent location, and put it right over there at the back of 
Florabella’s garden.” 

Captain Bluitt looked very serious. 

“Sister,” he said, “I wish to say nothing disagreeable. 

I will do all in my power to make you happy. I will 
make any reasonable sacrifice because of my love for you; 
but if the judge — that is to say, if Irwin brings that boiler 
of his over to this neighborhood I shall have to move to 


456 


Captain Bluitt 


another house. My preference is to pass my declining 
years in security and peace.” 

“He will not bring that old boiler here. He will put 
up one of his new non-explosive boilers.” 

Captain BluitCs face still indicated anxiety. 

“I am not sure,” he said, “that will be much better. 
Life is uncertain enough anyway, without taking these 
great risks. I will see Me— that is, I will speak to 
Irwin about it. I have a lot out towards Dr. Quelch’s 
that is a magnificent site for mechanical experimentation. 
He may use it rent-free.” 

There was, of course, no little excitement and gossip 
when it was noised abroad that these three lovely Turley 
women were to make ventures into matrimony. 

Poor Lochinvar Frobisher, every hope blasted and the 
light of his life extinguished, shut himself up in his room 
and wept. The girl he loved seemed more lovely than 
ever now that she had been torn from him. He had many 
mad thoughts of exile and suicide and other desperate 
methods of contending with his fate; but time brought 
healing. A few years later, upon looking closely into his 
heart, he found that he could make room for love for 
Major Gridley’s niece, and as he had been admitted to 
a place in the Bank and had obtained a larger salary as 
organist, he married her, to the great satisfaction of his 
mother, because the Gridleys really were distantly related 
to the Doodys of Quilliponic. 

Mrs. Frobisher’s comment upon the engagement of 
Mrs. Burns was brief and scornful: 

“Just what might have been expected of Florabella 
Burns! She had no ancestors!” 

All the town rejoiced that Judge McGann had found 
so nice a partner, and the Whigs resolved to run him for 
Mayor at the next election. Davis Cook promised to 
support him, but Davis could not help saying to Robin- 
son the grocer, when he heard of the engagement: 

“Fll bet the judge, before the year’s out, will invent a 


Three Twos are Three 4^7 

machine for marrying people quick, and I’ll bet it won’t 
work.” 

Mrs. Potter could hardly give full expression to her joy 
as she contemplated this promise of what may be called 
wholesale conjugal transactions, but she tried to do so 
when she met Walter one afternoon as he was going 
through the garden to Captain Bluitt’s stable. 

‘'O dear Mr. Walter! what joy it is to know that you, 
and dear Mrs. Burns and dear Miss Puella are all going 
to boldly venture into that holy estate of matrimony which 
is so charged with bliss and so much better than for 
man to be alone as I often say to darling Rufus in the 
sweet felicity of our own married life where I do not see 
as much of him as I used to now that he is occupying 
high public station in the endeavor to do good to his fel- 
low-men and to his beloved country. But O Mr. Walter! 
you will say yourself when you know from rich exper- 
ience of the joyfulness of that blessed state that I am 
right and dear Captain Bluitt will say it and dear Miss 
Puella will say it, and I’m sure I would rather have that 
lovely Mrs. Florabella Burns who is beautiful to look at 
and as good as she is handsome with her kind heart for a 
mistress than any other lady in the round rolling world 
excepting dear Miss Puella who I just love and would 
do anything for, positively anything excepting to give up 
Rufus which she wouldn’t ask me to do because she 
knows, and she’ll know far better when she is irh the 
sweet bonds of matrimony herself, that it would wrench 
my heart and lacerate my feelings. But you all have my 
best and kindest wishes and particularly you, Mr. Walter, 
who is going to be joined in ties that no earthly power 
can ever rend asunder to a lady who is sweeter, far 
sweeter, in my opinion than any angel that was ever heard 
of anywheres,” 

Walter thanked her and asked her to come to the 
wedding with Rufus and all the seven children and to 
partake of refreshments in the kitchen. 


4j 8 Captain Bluitt 

When Walter returned to the city he had a conference 
with his friend who was interested in electrical devices, 
and examination of the McGann patents was made by 
competent mechanics and attorneys, wdth the result that 
Walter Drury was authorized to buy the shares owned 
by the Turley bank for not more than twenty-five thou- 
sand dollars ; and he was to have a handsome commission 
for himself for conducting the transaction. 

So, with the help of Major Gridley, all the claims of the 
bank against John Hamilton were fully satisfied, with 
interest paid to date upon the moneys involved, and 
Walter went around to see his sweetheart and to rejoice 
her with the intelligence that her father had nothing more 
to fear. Then he called at Captain Bluitt’s and found 
Judge McGann there with Aunt Puella. To the judge 
he related the facts about his transaction with the bank, 
and offered him the money remaining from the purchase. 

“No,” said the judge, “it is not fair that I shall take it. 

I surrendered the whole thing, and charged the account 
off and I have no rights in the matter. The money is 
yours, Walter.” 

“I cannot consent to that arrangement,” answered 
Walter. “You made a heavy sacrifice to save your honor 
and to do justice to the bank. You must accept the 
money.” 

“Walter,” said Judge McGann, after reflecting for a 
moment, “when I charge a thing off, I am done with it, 
usually; but I’ll tell you what I’ll do; since you are not 
satisfied to keep all the money, give me half of it; I want 
a new chuck-lathe, anyhow.” 

“No, Irwin,” said Miss Bluitt, firmly, “you don’t want 
to squander the money on a chuck-lathe just now. Keep 
all of it excepting what you wish to spend on our wedding 
journey ; and buy yourself a couple of new suits, too.” 

When a few weeks more had gone by Florabella Burns 
came up to the city to make some purchases for her wed- 
ding and at Walter’s invitation she brought Dorothea 


Three Twos are Three 4^9 

with her. When the morning’s shopping was done, 
Walter took them to lunch and then he insisted that they 
must come to his lodgings. Aunty Florabella was will- 
ing and when they reached the house and had been 
curiously inspected by Marietta Binns as she flitted by 
them in the entry, they went up to the little parlor which 
Walter had adjoining his bedroom. Walter flung open 
the door and an old man who had been sitting by the 
window arose and turned to look at the visitors. 

^‘Father!” exclaimed Dorothea, flying towards him and 
flinging her arms about him, while Florabella and Walter 
remained in the hall-way and closed the door. 

John Hamilton’s hair had turned as white as snow, and 
the new-grown beard upon his face was white, and he 
looked twenty years older than when Dorothea last saw 
him. 

He wept bitterly as she embraced and kissed him, and 
he asked her much about her dear mother, saying he 
could never, never forgive himself for the anguish he had 
brought to her. 

‘'And I was unkind, most unkind to you my dear. How 
could I have treated you so cruelly, and Walter such a 
noble fellow? Forgive me Dorry, and pray that mother 
will forgive me. Will she, Dorry, do you think?” 

“Yes, yes, yes!” said Dorothea. 

“She did not censure me while she was ill?” 

“No, never! She was just very, very sorry.” 

“Well, my child,” said the broken man, “I care for 
nothing now but to be forgiven and to go to her.” 

“Not for me? You care for me, father?” 

“Yes, but you will have Walter, and you will not need 
me. I have been foolish and wicked and unkind, and 
the world will scorn me. I do not want to live. I shall 
ask God, day after day, to pardon me and then to call me 
quickly. The only passionate desire I have is to go to 
be where mother is.” 

John Hamilton would not come to the weddings. He 


46o Captain Bluitt 

could not bear to face the people of Turley. He could 
not bear to visit the house in which he had wrought so 
much destruction. 

But the weddings were celebrated. When the New 
Year opened, the three brides agreed that it would be 
nice and proper that Mrs. Burns should be married in 
Captain Bluitt ’s house where soon she was to be mis- 
tress; that Miss Puella would of course be married in 
that house, and that Dorothea could hardly venture to 
go off and be married in any other house than that of 
her uncle and prospective aunts. 

The day was a happy one for all the brides and the 
grooms, excepting that for the loveliest of the three 
women there was a tinge of sadness to the occasion be- 
cause of the tragedies through which she had so recently 
passed. 

She clung to her lover’s arm more closely than Puella 
and Florabella seemed to do when they came into the 
room. He was her one hope! her one refuge and stay in 
this troublesome world. 

A few friends were there: Dr. Frobisher to perform 
the ceremony, and of course Mrs. Frobisher with him; 
Major Gridley, good Doctor Quelch and but two or three 
others. And there were some gifts from near friends, 
among them an odd offering from Rufus to Dorothea; a 
mustache cup with the inscription '‘Love the Giver.” 
Mrs. Potter looked in through the dining-room door and 
radiated joy from her countenance while the words were 
pronounced which united the couples; and out in the 
kitchen Becky Slifer, called off for this especial occasion 
from the labor of relieving her fellow-countrymen from 
the bonds of involuntary servitude, fabricated surprising 
and delightful dishes (learned from Mrs. Metcalf) for the 
wedding breakfast. 

Then, when the day was older, the bridal parties went 
away. Walter and his wife to the North, Captain Bluitt 
and his beloved to the West, and Judge McGann and 


Three Twos are Three 461 

Puella McGann to the South, because the judge had found 
some resistance in the Patent office to his claim for a 
welded flue in his new non-explosive boiler and wished to 
go to Washington to remonstrate. And so these people 
whom we have loved and with whom we have laughed 
vanish from the scene. 

But the tale is not all told. 

Ten days after the threefold wedding there was a bright 
and beautiful Sunday in Turley and the old town, for- 
getting the excitements that had disturbed it and the pas- 
sions that had now grown cold, seemed bathed in peace. 
Excepting that the air was frosty, it was just such a 
Sunday as that on which Walter Drury had walked to 
church and to felicity. 

Nine o’clock came and with the hour a flock of chil- 
dren for the Sunday School; but the church-bell did not 
ring. All the doors of the church and of the Sunday 
School building were closed and fastened and no indica- 
tions appeared that the sexton was in either edifice. 

Some of the teachers and the older boys knocked 
loudly upon the several doors, taking them in succession; 
but there was no response. 

Two boys procured a plank and putting one end of it 
upon the window-sill, first at one window, then at an- 
other, endeavored to peer into the buildings. They could 
see nothing. 

Then Mrs. Frobisher came, charged full with a new 
and astonishing blackboard demonstration for the infant- 
class, upon the subject of the Flood. When the situation 
was explained to her she was much vexed, and spoke 
sharply : 

''Saul has overslept himself. He is really too old and 
foolish to have charge of the church. I shall ask the 
Trustees to put a younger man in his place.” 

"Willie,” she said to one of the boys, "run over to 
Saul’s house and find if he is there. Bring the keys with 
you, in any case,'^ 


462 Captain Bluitt 

“The children are almost perishing with cold,” she said. 

The growing crowd of teachers and children waited 
impatiently for the boy’s return. Several of the town s 
people, attracted by the group or having noted that the 
bell did not ring, stopped to discover the cause of the 
delay. 

In a few moments Willie returned and reported that 
Saul’s daughter said her father had not been at home all 
night. Liddy came and told the story herself, and she 
said Saul had taken the keys of the church with him. 

The matter became mysterious. 

Another boy was sent for Dr. Frobisher, who had the 
keys to the church door and to the door of his study. 

The doctor came, somewhat flushed with vexation at 
the interruption of his efforts to put a concluding touch 
upon his sermon and, as he went toward the study-door, 
followed by the entire crowd, he said to Elder Martin and 
Davis Cook: 

“Tarsel really will have to do better.” 

Dr. Frobisher put the key into the door and opened it. 

The gas was lighted and blowing vigorously from the 
burner upon the wall. The table and the chairs were 
overturned; the picture of Little Samuel had been thrown 
down violently from the wall and the glass shivered to 
fragments, while between the wooden back of the picture 
and the paper on which the engraving was printed, bank- 
notes were wedged and other bank-notes were lying 
about everywhere. 

Upon the carpet, near to the overturned table, was a 
great pool of blood. Over in the far corner lay a heap 
of something — the pastor at first, in the changed light, 
could not tell what;. but quickly he perceived it to be two 
human beings. Davis Cook thrust the window shutters 
wide open and Dr. Frobisher came near. 

There lay Saul Tarsel, dead, with his fingers still clasp- 
ing the throat of Bunder Foot Singh. Under him was 
the body of the Hindu, strangled by the iron fingers of 


Three Twos are Three 46 } 

the old slave, and through SauTs heart, thrust by Bunder 
Foot’s hand, which still grasped the hilt, was a steel 
dagger with a narrow grooved blade. 

^ The Hindu had returned and entered the church in the 
night to obtain the money he had secreted within the 
picture, and Saul had found him there and endeavored to 
seize him. In the struggle that had ensued, the Hindu 
had lost his life at the hands of the man whom he robbed 
first of his money and then of his life. 


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